Machiavellian Symbiosis
by Wandering Namekian
Summary: A series of scenes (mostly) set in the Arkham Asylum Universe . May not be in chronological order after the first. Scarecrow/Riddler. Chapter 8 Summary: A variety of conversations between Crane or Nigma and other characters, about their relationship.
1. Chapter 1: Liar

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Batman, these are my riddles, though.

**Author's Note: **Okay, this may be first of several stories that will be written in this or a similar format. Some will be like this one, the same scene from different points of view, others will be changing points of view within the same scene. All of these, however, have the same purpose: to examine the psychological reasoning behind why and how I think this relationship would exist. These take place in the Arkham Asylum universe/setting, and I'm taking those reads of the characters.

There are a few assumptions that I've made about this game, the main relevant one being that Crane and Nigma were running around at the same time on Arkham Island, free before Joker came back with Batman. There is evidence of this in the game. I'll go over it when I get to the chapters where that assumption becomes relevant. That being said, they at least would have had to be friendly enough toward one another not to get each other caught by the guards, as at least Nigma knew what Crane was doing at the time (there is evidence for this as well). I've also assumed they were working together for that time and throughout Arkham Asylum (there is also some evidence for this, which I will go over as well). I'm going to give dates, but they won't have years (as the dates in the game don't have years), and the problem is that the interview tapes seem to span around six months of time, which seems to fall between October of one year and February of another. I'm assuming the game takes place in early March. I had at first thought that Crane's breakout was actually in the February of the _previous_ year, but that made no sense in the context of the Arkham Chronicles.

Anyway, I mainly wrote this because I feel as if the interlocking emotional needs that could occur when combining Crane's god-complex and desire for control, and Edward's need for attention and constant craving for the approval of an authority figure (like say, a father, or perhaps, a _god_) was too good to pass up. Do keep in mind this may be a bit… dark. But they're evil, that's really quite the point, isn't it?

If you're wondering, yes, there will be a romantic component to this. But to me, that isn't the _main _focus of their relationship. Their connection/interaction is mainly mental/emotional, and while I like giving it a romantic component, that is mainly for the purpose of intensifying the preexisting emotional aspects. This chapter doesn't really have anything that would be considered "romantic" but future chapters will, so be patient if that's what you want.

Also, yes, I made the riddles myself, I had to, as you'll see. If you hate them, well, you can complain, but I'll probably have to continue to write them, but perhaps they'll get better over time.

**Date: August 17th**

**Jonathan's POV**

"He never hit you, did he, Edward?"

The Riddler looked up from whatever the (clearly mentally challenged) members of the Arkham Asylum kitchen staff had given him for sustenance, to see Dr. Crane staring him straight in the face. The reflection of the florescent lights made the entirety of his spectacles look white. The effect was rather unsettling, especially in combination with his expression, which could only be described as one of smug anticipation.

The Riddler, however, seemed unconcerned, and smirked a bit. "You mean, when he brought me back? He most certainly did. I do think I still have a mark. I told you the story two days ago, then again, you didn't even look up from your newspaper, so I can see how you'd forget. If you _actually_ want to listen, I'd be glad to—"

"You know I wasn't talking about the Batman."

The Riddler blinked, his whole demeanor changing: the glib narcissism replaced by curt cynicism and irritation. Dr. Crane leaned forward, suppressing a smirk: he'd been right.

"Then what _are_ you talking about?" Edward asked.

"You know. And once you get over the minor bruising to your ego, you'll realize that you're glad I figured it out."

Edward looked rather dubious. "And why is that, doctor?"

"Because you're not a private person, Edward. You _want _someone to know."

"And how _exactly_ did you manage it? I am rather curious about that."

Dr. Crane held up a finger, as if to chastise him. "I realize that you specialize in answering questions with more questions, and you've already tricked me into answering two of yours. But I'm not going to answer any more until you answer mine. I think that's only fair."

Edward was silent for a moment, before he spoke. "You're right. If that's what you wanted to hear. My father never actually beat me. He never hit me. Not even once. Now, tell me, how did you figure that out? I've never told anyone that before."

"Yes, you have. You've told every therapist you've ever had here. They just weren't smart enough or weren't paying enough attention to realize it."

Dr. Crane's eyes widened a bit as he saw Edward's hand grip the plastic fork he was holding so hard that it broke. When Edward spoke, however, his voice betrayed no increase in tension or aggravation. "But you're not my therapist, and you never have been. How did _you_ figure it out?"

"You know the new therapist, Dr. Young? She seemed to think she couldn't get anywhere with you. She's really not very good, I'm afraid. She seems to think that your intellect is just some sort of delusion. I assured her that from what I knew, you were, in fact, quite brilliant, but that if she told me more about your case I might be able to help."

The Riddler leaned back, looking a bit bored. "So far, all you've told me is that I'm brilliant and that this place is about a dozen lawsuits waiting to happen: both of which I already knew."

"Patience, Edward, I'm getting there. I must say that I was moderately interested. Your case is more fascinating than the others. You're here because you want to be, at least on some level. If you didn't want to be caught, no one could catch you, not even Batman. And yet, here you are, time after time, because _you_ leave clues. I wanted to know why."

The Riddler gave a cynical sort of smile. "Riddle me this, doctor: From thieves, I often cannot be hidden, yet from one to another cannot be... truly given. Crafted by each individual with care, yet by entire nations shared. What am I?"

Dr. Crane raised his eyebrows, taking in the statement. "So, you're saying that leaving riddles is part of your identity. It makes you who you are."

"Riddler: it's in the name. You know, I've yet to see evidence of your brilliant psychoanalytical skills. There's always a chance you guessed, or cheated."

"How would I have cheated, you already said you never told anyone else."

"There are other people who know, I'm sure. Social workers, neighbors, my father's friends. There are always ways to cheat at any test or puzzle, doctor."

"What about jigsaw puzzles? How do you cheat at those?"

The Riddler looked at him, obviously not entirely happy with the sudden distraction. "What do you mean?"

"You said there were ways to cheat at any puzzle, and jigsaw puzzles happen to be my favorite. Taking seemingly unimportant pieces and putting them together to make a whole and different picture, it's quite enjoyable. I'm just wondering, how does one cheat at those?"

"Well you... well you can't! It only has one solution, and you know what it is ahead of time! It's not really a puzzle at all! The point of a puzzle is that you don't know what the solution is!"

"Then why do people do jigsaw puzzles?"

"Source of bliss, yet valued not. By fools possessed, by intellect fought. Hides in the shadows of ignorance, but by education made obvious."

"And do you think _I'm_ stupid, Edward?"

"As I've said, I've yet to see proof otherwise."

"I solved both of your riddles."

"You might have known the solution before."

"You shouldn't lie to me like that, Edward," Dr. Crane said, using his best condescending therapist voice. "You just made them up right now during this conversation. I know because I can tell you haven't said them before. You paused in the middle of the first one, and the tenses weren't perfectly matched in the second, the word 'hides' was in the present tense, it should be in the past. Any riddle that I _might_ know is one that you know as second nature, and therefore have said countless times, any riddle like that you would deliver flawlessly. But you've been attempting to truly test my intellect, to see if I really am capable of figuring out your secret."

Edward looked at him, clearly trying to process something, his bravado once again broken through for a moment. Once he spoke again, however, it was back. "Not bad, you really did used to be a psychiatrist. You still haven't proven that you figured out that I was lying about my father."

"Very well. As you've already pointed out, the doctors here have little regard for client confidentiality. I told Dr. Young that I might be able to help with your case, and she let me listen to your interview tapes, at least, the ones you did with her. I'll admit, I was a little disappointed when I heard the tapes, I think I expected more from you than the typical, slightly irritated criminal confession.

"You seem so measured and calculated, I wouldn't have thought basic therapy could reduce you to the state of a normal abuse victim. The solution to your problem was that you were afraid of your father, although it didn't make _perfect_ sense. If you wanted his approval, why did you misbehave? Normally, the response to abuse is to do the opposite of what you did, to become meek and unnoticeable.

"Still, I took it to be an abnormal, but not unheard of response, and resigned myself to the fact that there was nothing of real interest to be studied. I was actually a bit disappointed with myself for being so fascinated by you.

"But that night, I found I couldn't sleep, and it was because of you. Specifically, because you'd just been brought back to the Asylum, and were recounting your latest crimes, repeatedly. And every time it was exactly the same: charismatic, loud, emotional. You were the hunted rogue, and Batman the self-righteous force of justice. Every word was exactly the same, every time. Then it hit me, why hadn't I seen it before? Of course, I had to be sure. So that night I wrote your speech down, word for word as you gave it."

Edward's face was one of concentration, clearly trying to put a puzzle of his own together. "And then you asked me to explain what happened the next morning at breakfast, _that's_ why you were looking at your newspaper?"

"I had to prove my hypothesis. I'm a scientist after all. And it was, word for word, exactly the same. You even answered Harley Quinn's inane question exactly the same... then again, she basically asked the same question, so I suppose I can't blame you for that."

"And?" Edward asked, obviously wanting to hear the rest. Dr. Crane suppressed a smile, a breakthrough: he'd managed to impress him. He seemed much more willing to cooperate now.

"Well, I realized that something was very wrong with your confession about your father."

Edward suddenly leaned forward, simultaneously offended and spellbound. "What? What was wrong with it?"

"Well, I checked it with tapes from your other therapists, and it wasn't the same. Oh, it was basically the same, but it had little differences, as emotional accounts always do. They all sounded genuine and unrehearsed. You hit none of the markers for a falsified abuse statement."

"So, you're saying you knew I was lying because it was obvious I wasn't?"

Dr. Crane narrowed his eyes a bit. Edward was starting to close up again. That was no good, they'd made so much progress. He was close to the truth, he was sure he could get it, he supposed there was no point in dragging this out any longer, it would only make matters worse.

"No. It would have been obvious that anyone _else_ wasn't lying. Not you. _All _of the stories you tell about yourself are rehearsed, and they're always exactly the same, every time. Because telling stories about yourself combines two of your favorite things: talking and yourself."

Dr. Crane winced a bit, his tone had been professional, but his last statement was clearly an insult. He hadn't meant to let his own emotion get into this conversation, but the idea that he was so close to understanding everything and might not get an answer was deeply frustrating. He took a deep breath and continued.

"You think over every experience you have, find the best way to recount it, and rehearse it until you can do it perfectly. Your perfect recall abilities allow you to make sure that you don't have the little differences in memory that most people do when they talk about the past.

"If your father had _really_ abused you, you'd be playing it for sympathy and attention, like you did when Batman caught you and brought you back: a cruel and ignorant man, beating his brilliant, misunderstood son. That's the story we'd be hearing, and not filtered through a false reluctance, but told with pride. And you wouldn't care if anyone believed you. I must say, I am more curious about you than ever.

"What could a man who advertises his crimes be so anxious to hide that he would construct the _perfect_ abuse story and make sure to tell it to multiple therapists that he knew would compare notes? Why did you _need_ them to believe you? What were you so _afraid_ of getting out that you went to this elaborate ruse on the off chance that you would actually get a therapist smart enough to drag the truth out of you?"

Dr. Crane winced again. He _did_ want to know what Edward was so afraid of, but _this_ was how he always drove people away. They would find his probing about their fears to be unsettling, and stop talking. That was were the fear gas came in. But he had no fear gas now. If he wanted to know Edward's fears, he was going to have to do it the old-fashioned way.

Edward, however, hadn't seemed to notice the almost predatory tone with which Dr. Crane had asked about his fears. "Are you saying that you listened to all of my therapy tapes?"

Dr. Crane blinked a few times. That had not been what he was expecting. Was there just no chance of this working? And was it Edward's brilliance that was stopping him? Or was it simply that he was out of practice at using real psychology? "Yes, of course. Did I not just say that?"

No. No emotions, no anger, no obsession. He was going to ruin this. He took another deep breath. He hadn't been completely off. He'd been expecting Edward to answer his questions with questions, of course, just not _that_ question. Unexpected could be good, though. Yes, it was new information, he just had to follow it to its origin. Before he could formulate a way to do so, however, Edward spoke again.

"Multiple times? You listened to me multiple times? On the tapes, and my speeches here?"

Dr. Crane scanned his face before he answered. It was a _bit_ of an invasion of Edward's privacy, he supposed. Most people took offense to such things, even found that sort of behavior off-putting, but Edward seemed to enjoy attention, and he was a renowned hacker: a master of invading people's privacy without permission. It simply didn't seem like the sort of thing that would bother him. And indeed, the look on Edward's face didn't indicate that he was bothered or offended in the least. He supposed, then, that honesty was the best way in which to answer. "Yes, and by comparing them found the inconsistency. Psychology is really not so different from your beloved deduction."

"Why?" Edward leaned forward, clearly now possessed by his own mania or obsession.

Dr. Crane's eyes lit up. He was getting somewhere, after all. There was anticipation, curiosity and hope evident in Edward's face and body language. And with hope, of course, came fear. Finally. Just the inkling of its presence was a bit distracting to him. He blinked a few times, he had to focus, he was so close.

"I was curious... about you." Was that the right direction? The narcissism? Yes, the man loved attention, that much was obvious, but it always seemed like the puzzles and riddles were more important, unless they were just a tool. Yes. Maybe there _had_ been kernels of truth to his story about his father, after all.

"But why? _Why_ did you care?" Edward looked ready to physically grab him.

"Because you're obviously not completely insane, but I can't see what motivates you. On the surface you just look like a puffed up kid, who covers up self-loathing with narcissism, who also happens to have a severe case of obsessive compulsive disorder. But that's not what it is! Your arrogance and narcissism are _real_, not an act or persona you've built to protect yourself. And you're obsession has manifested so uniquely. You're _not_ leaving riddles just because you want to, I've heard the tapes, you can't stop. So it must be an obsessive-compulsion, but that would make you the first person to manifest the disorder in this way that I've ever encountered, and trust me, I've studied it!

"There must be a single origin for all your behavior! The narcissism and the leaving of riddles as evidence of your intelligence, they fit together too perfectly to not have a single source for both disorders! And it must be fear! Everyone is motivated by fear! But it's not a fear of your father, or his hatred! That doesn't make sense!" Dr. Crane realized he was losing control of himself. He had to get it back. He had to do this right, he had to make sure Edward _wanted _to answer his questions. He had to try to relate to him.

"I told you, jigsaw puzzles are my favorite kind of puzzles. To me, minds are like jigsaw puzzles, they give me all the pieces of the person I'm looking at. The person is the reference picture, I have to make sure that when I fit the pieces together they create the person properly. And I've realized that I'm missing some of the pieces of your puzzle, and I want to find them. Surely, you can understand that desire."

"Yes, I suppose so..." Edward was looking at him again, he'd clearly not been expecting that. "And you want me to give you the missing pieces?"

"Yes, I need them. Tell me the truth about your father." If he had the truth, the fear would come floating to the surface. Whatever it was Edward had changed about his story would be the key to figuring out exactly what it was that frightened him enough to make it the only part of his life he didn't want to talk about.

"No."

"What?" _This_. This was _exactly_ what Fear Gas was for. That and terrorizing people with their own petty fears, but that wasn't _why_ he'd invented it in the first place. He'd invented it because of difficult patients who thought their fears were their own business, and chose to withhold vital information from him. "Why not? I solved the little puzzle you left for your therapists! Don't I _deserve_ to know? You said that you understood!"

"Tell me, doctor: what do you do with a jigsaw puzzle once you've finished it?"

Dr. Crane, however, was tired of Edward's stupid games. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'll tell you! You put them back in the box and never look at them again!" Edward practically shouted.

Dr. Crane was about to get up and leave, but Edward's voice caught his attention. He was angry, yes, but also afraid. Real fear. Jonathan looked at him. He wasn't sure how, but he'd managed to scare him. Yet not understanding _what _exactly he'd done was infuriating. Edward's fears were so complex, so multifaceted, it had taken him _this_ long just to get to them. The idea of understanding them well enough to call them up whenever he wanted to was too enticing to give up on.

Why would he be afraid _now_, though? Jonathan had to think. He had to not be distracted by the fact that Edward was obviously so frightened by a mere conversation he was beginning to draw blood from how tightly he'd clenched his fist. Edward's was a beautifully subtle sort of fear: no screaming in terror, just an increase in the rate of his breathing and a look that implied that Jonathan's next sentence could break him utterly. No one around them had even noticed, either, they went about their meals, not realizing that Jonathan had taken complete control of him.

No, no, no! Focus! He had to find the _reason_, or else he could never replicate this moment. He couldn't let him walk away. He reached up and grabbed Edward by the arm to stop him. He hadn't meant to do it, it had just happened. Still, Edward's reaction confused him. He didn't seem upset, he didn't try to pull away. In fact, Edward seemed relieved, almost relaxing into the vice-like grip on his arm.

Then it all suddenly made sense. Dr. Crane smiled and let go of him, leaning back with a satisfied smile on his face. "That's it, I know what happened. Of course your father never hit you, he would have only done that if he hated you, or wanted to control you. And you have to care a lot about someone to hate them, or want to control them. And your father never gave you enough attention for that, did he, Edward?

"But it wasn't always that way, was it? I'm sure he did at first. Before you could talk, probably. In fact, he probably doted on you. But one day, something changed, maybe he was unsettled by your intelligence, or maybe you just weren't turning into the son he wanted. Whichever it was, he didn't know how to deal with it, so he chose to ignore you, to push you away. The harder you worked for earn back his attention, the more he ignored you to try to get you to stop.

"And _that's_ what you're so afraid of: being purposefully ignored. It scares you so much that you constructed an elaborate ruse to make sure none of your therapists could figure out the truth. But the irony was, the fact that no one figured it out meant you were being ignored again. You knew that, and you hated it, but anything was better than people _consciously_ ignoring you."

He waited for the inevitable begging, or at least for Edward to break down in some way. But instead, what he got was a rather irritated, "Good to know that I've given you a few days of amusement, doctor. Now, I assume there's nothing else you want with me."

Of course: what he'd said about the puzzle. Edward thought that now that Dr. Crane had figured him out, he was done with him. He had nothing left to be afraid of. What he was fearing had already come to pass, and he thought there was nothing he could do about it. After all, fear was in threat, not reality. If someone is afraid of being shot to death, and you shoot them to death, they're not afraid anymore: they're dead. Hold the gun to their head and _threaten _to shoot them, and they'll be afraid forever. If he let him leave now, Edward wouldn't be afraid. He would probably be hurt. Dr. Crane might hear him crying that night alone in his cell, but what good would _that_ do? He wouldn't be afraid.

He would have to pay attention to him in order to threaten to ignore him. It would be a time investment, but the results would be well worth it. Edward's constant need for attention and approval would make him all but co-dependent. He would have to be careful. Edward wouldn't take kindly to being used, and there were always other sources of attention, after all. Was he really using him, though? Edward wanted the attention more than anything, and more than that, he _wanted_ the threat of losing it, that was the only way he could know he really _deserved_ it, after all.

Could Edward be doing this on purpose? Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't. His fear had been genuine, but that didn't mean he wasn't using it to his advantage. It didn't matter. The idea of having _complete_ control over someone else's fears (particularly someone as intelligent as Edward), was too tempting for him to turn down. Besides, Edward getting something out of it only meant he was more likely to stick around, regardless of what sort of torment he was put through. It would be a delicate balancing act, but the way he had reacted to the threat of losing Jonathan's attentions had been so perfect. A true, pure fear that held a unique hopelessness to it. He didn't scream because he knew there was no help, because if he failed, it was all his fault, and it proved he wasn't perfect, and didn't deserve the attention he so wanted and...

Just thinking about the spiral of interlocking fears and anxieties that he would be in control of simply by getting close to this man almost made Jonathan feel dizzy. He blinked and pulled himself back into reality. He wouldn't get any of it if he didn't stop Edward from leaving now. He reached up and grabbed his arm again, a bit more softly this time. "Don't you want me to answer your question, Edward?"

He looked at Edward's face: confusion primarily, but underneath it relief. And yes, there it was: fear. Jonathan felt his grip on Edward's arm relax a bit more. Edward almost certainly knew what was going on, but that was unimportant. They both knew, and they both knew that the other knew. Words weren't _necessary_ at this point, but it was part of the game. Jonathan _had_ to say them, because he had to _show_ Edward he was interested in him as more than a puzzle; and for that reason, they had to be the right words. "You asked me what I did with old puzzles, correct?"

"Y-Yes, that's right. Are you saying that you do something besides put them away?"

Neither of them could hide the anticipation in their voices at this point, but still, Jonathan tried to keep his voice calm, level and objective. "Usually that's what I do. There was one puzzle, though, that was of a particularly lovely picture, full of intricate details, that I had never seen before. So I decided to frame it, and put it up on my wall. The fact that it was once a puzzle does nothing to diminish the artwork, after all. Artwork, can, be analyzed and examined in its own right. And often times, art is simply enjoyable to have and to look at."

It occurred to Jonathan that he might have gone a bit overboard with the flattery, but one look at the now smug expression on Edward's face told him otherwise. Of course, Edward was the most narcissistic person he'd ever met, and this was coming from a man who called himself a "god:" there was no such thing as too much flattery. He let go of Edward's arm and removed his glasses, placing them on the table, to show he was done psychoanalyzing him for the moment. "Now, Edward, why don't you sit back down? We can talk about something else if you'd like."

"Y-Yes, alright." And the small amount of fear that Jonathan saw behind the smile Edward flashed him as he sat down again was more satisfying than any shriek of terror or wail of despair he had ever heard: to him, Edward was perfect.

**Edward's POV**

What the hell was this supposed to be? Nigma looked down at the tray in front of him, confused, dismayed and more than a bit disgusted. Out of all the things about being stuck in Arkham, the food was probably one of the worst. Therapist meetings were only once a week, and they could provide entertainment at least. Even assaults by guards or other inmates (usually the latter), only happened every other week or so. But the food was forced on them three times a day, and without fail made him sick to some degree. Geniuses weren't supposed to have to acclimate to eating filth on a daily basis, it was utterly ridiculous that _he _would be forced to fuel his superior mind with—

"He never hit you, did he, Edward?"

Nigma looked up to see Dr. Jonathan Crane sitting across from him, a smug sort of anticipation on his face. The reflection of the florescent lights made the entirety of his spectacles look white, making Nigma unsure of exactly what Crane was looking at. What was this about? Crane had asked him to tell the story of how he'd gotten thrown back in Arkham about a week ago, and that was the last conversation that they'd had. He hadn't even paid attention either, he'd asked Nigma to recount the story, then gone back to reading his newspaper.

Nigma smirked, did Crane think he was exaggerating for attention? How ridiculous. Nigma didn't _need_ to exaggerate to impress the small minds of the Arkham inmates, after all. "You mean, when he brought me back? He most certainly did. I do think I still have a mark. I told you the story two days ago, then again, you didn't even look up from your newspaper, so I can see how you'd forget. If you actually want to listen, I'd be glad to—"

"You know I wasn't talking about the Batman."

What the hell? No. He couldn't know about... Edward looked back at Crane, he knew the man's reputation. He was a brilliant psychologist, but it wasn't as if Edward had ever seen him for therapy. Besides, the man had seemed utterly unconcerned with him up until this point. It was impossible that he could know about his father. "Then what _are_ you talking about?"

Crane leaned forward a bit, his lips twitching upward for a moment. Now that the lights were no longer reflected off of his lenses, Edward could see that Crane was looking intently at him. "You know. And once you get over the minor bruising to your ego, you'll realize that you're glad I figured it out."

He _did_ seem to know. But why? And how? No one should have been able to figure it out. His story was perfect. When Nigma spoke, he didn't bother to hide how doubtful he was. "And why is that, doctor?"

"Because you're not a private person, Edward. You _want _someone to know." Yes, Edward had to admit there was a certain appeal to that, but Crane? The man barely knew him. They'd barely spoken. There must have been some other explanation.

"And how _exactly_ did you manage it? I am rather curious about that."

Dr. Crane held up a finger, as if to chastise him, which caused Nigma to narrow his eyes. Who did this man think he was, condescending to him? "I realize that you specialize in answering questions with more questions, and you've already tricked me into answering two of yours. But I'm not going to answer any more until you answer mine. I think that's only fair."

Nigma thought for a moment, the sooner they laid everything out on the table, the sooner he could know how Crane had found out. "You're right. If that's what you wanted to hear. My father never actually beat me. He never hit me. Not even once. Now, tell me, how did you figure that out? I've never told anyone that before."

"Yes, you have. You've told every therapist you've ever had here. They just weren't smart enough or weren't paying enough attention to realize it."

What? Had he somehow left some sort of clue behind in his lie? And had his doctors only not noticed because they hadn't paid attention to him? No. That couldn't be true. He was certainly the most fascinating patient any of them had. How could he not be? Suddenly, he heard something snap, bringing him back into reality. He'd broken the plastic fork he was holding. Was Crane just trying to get under his skin? Probably. That was what psychologists did, after all, and Crane was allegedly a great psychologist. It was nothing. "But you're not my therapist, and you never have been. How did _you_ figure it out?"

"You know the new therapist, Dr. Young? She seemed to think she couldn't get anywhere with you. She's really not very good, I'm afraid. She seems to think that your intellect is just some sort of delusion. I assured her that from what I knew, you were, in fact, quite brilliant, but that if she told me more about your case I might be able to help."

He was telling Nigma things he already knew to be true, probably done to make the rest of the story seem credible, when it wasn't. Crane had obviously cheated. "So far, all you've told me is that I'm brilliant and that this place is about a dozen lawsuits waiting to happen: both of which I already knew."

"Patience, Edward, I'm getting there. I must say that I was moderately interested. Your case is more fascinating than the others. You're here because you want to be, at least on some level. If you didn't want to be caught, no one could catch you, not even Batman. And yet, here you are, time after time, because _you_ leave clues. I wanted to know why."

Flattery? Edward was more than aware of how amazing he was, it would take more than that to get him to let his guard down. Still, perhaps he should give Crane test, to see if he was even smart enough to figure it out on his own, assuming he got access to the relevant information. "Riddle me this, doctor: From thieves, I often cannot be hidden, yet from one to another cannot be... truly given. Crafted by each individual with care, yet by entire nations shared. What am I?"

Dr. Crane raised his eyebrows, taking in the statement. "So, you're saying that leaving riddles is part of your identity. It makes you who you are."

He'd solved it and simply continued the conversation as if Edward had spoken to him normally, instead of in a riddle. He was trying to get Nigma to open up by speaking his language. Maybe he _was_ smart enough to do it. Still, there's no way he could have gotten enough information on his own.

"Riddler: it's in the name. You know, I've yet to see evidence of your brilliant psychoanalytical skills. There's always a chance you guessed, or cheated."

"How would I have cheated? You already said you never told anyone else."

"There are other people who know, I'm sure. Social workers, neighbors, my father's friends. There are always ways to cheat at any test or puzzle, doctor."

"What about jigsaw puzzles? How do you cheat at those?"

What was the point of this little distraction? Another attempt to earn his trust? Pretend to be his friend? Pretend to share his interests? Nigma was starting to get rather irritated with this man. "What do you mean?"

"You said there were ways to cheat at any puzzle, and jigsaw puzzles happen to be my favorite. Taking seemingly unimportant pieces and putting them together to make a whole and different picture, it's quite enjoyable. I'm just wondering, how does one cheat at those?"

"Well you... well you can't! It only has one solution, and you know what it is ahead of time! It's not really a puzzle at all! The point of a puzzle is that you don't know what the solution is!" It was true, and this whole interlude was pointless anyway.

"Then why do people do jigsaw puzzles?"

_This_ was the exact sort of situation riddles were for. "Source of bliss, yet valued not. By fools possessed, by intellect fought. Hides in the shadows of ignorance, but by education made obvious."

Edward knew it wasn't very good: the rhyme scheme was imperfect, and it barely followed acceptable riddle form. The answer he was looking for was "stupidity," which was very similar to ignorance, and it had described an abstract concept as an abstract concept, instead of as an object or person. Frankly, it was one step above, "What have I got in my pocket?" But Edward _really_ wanted to see Crane lack an answer for once.

"And do you think _I'm_ stupid, Edward?" How the hell had he—? He could have guessed from conversational context. Still, that meant he'd been paying enough attention to Edward's expressions, tone and body language to do so.

"As I've said, I've yet to see proof otherwise." He was just annoyed now. Clearly Crane was intelligent, but Edward wasn't ready to believe he could have figured out his secret on his own.

"I solved both of your riddles."

"You might have known the solution before." It was a lie. He'd _just_ made them up, after all. But it wasn't a lie that anyone could prove he'd told. There were countless riddles in existence, no one knew them _all_ (although Nigma was sure he came the closest to doing so).

"You shouldn't lie to me like that, Edward," Dr. Crane said, using his best condescending therapist voice. "You just made them up right now during this conversation."

Edward was too stunned to speak. How did he know that? It was impossible. Wasn't it? Before Edward could question him, Crane continued.

"I know because I can tell you haven't said them before. You paused in the middle of the first one, and the tenses weren't perfectly matched in the second, the word 'hides' was in the present tense, it should be in the past. Any riddle that I _might_ know is one that you know as second nature, and therefore have said countless times, any riddle like that you would deliver flawlessly. But you've been attempting to truly test my intellect, to see if I really am capable of figuring out your secret."

Edward looked at Crane. That... that was a lot of information, about _him. _Had Crane really amassed it just from watching him? He would have had to watch him pretty intently to realize something like that, though. Could he really have...? And he'd picked up on clues that Edward hadn't even intended to drop, not even Batman could do that. "Not bad, you really did used to be a psychiatrist. You still haven't proven that you figured out that I was lying about my father."

"Very well. As you've already pointed out, the doctors here have little regard for client confidentiality. I told Dr. Young that I might be able to help with your case, and she let me listen to your interview tapes, at least, the ones you did with her. I'll admit, I was a little disappointed when I heard the tapes, I think I expected more from you than the typical, slightly irritated criminal confession.

"You seem so measured and calculated, I wouldn't have thought basic therapy could reduce you to the state of a normal abuse victim. The solution to your problem was that you were afraid of your father, although it didn't make _perfect_ sense. If you wanted his approval, why did you misbehave? Normally, the response to abuse is to do the opposite of what you did, to become meek and unnoticeable.

"Still, I took it to be an abnormal, but not unheard of response, and resigned myself to the fact that there was nothing of real interest to be studied. I was actually a bit disappointed with myself for being so fascinated by you.

"But that night, I found I couldn't sleep, and it was because of you. Specifically, because you'd just been brought back to the Asylum, and were recounting your latest crimes, repeatedly. And every time it was exactly the same: charismatic, loud, emotional. You were the hunted rogue, and Batman the self-righteous force of justice. Every word was exactly the same, every time. Then it hit me, why hadn't I seen it before? Of course, I had to be sure. So that night I wrote your speech down, word for word as you gave it."

He hadn't been ignoring him? _That _was why he'd had the newspaper, to hide the fact that he was comparing Edward's speeches to one another? Frankly, Edward didn't know how to respond to that. He'd never really been _studied_ before, he'd been analyzed and treated, dealt with as if he was any other patient. But studied? Intentionally and uniquely studied? Never. He had to admit it held an appeal. He certainly _deserved_ to be studied, after all. "And then you asked me to explain what happened the next morning at breakfast, _that's_ why you were looking at your newspaper?"

"I had to prove my hypothesis. I'm a scientist after all. And it was, word for word, exactly the same. You even answered Harley Quinn's inane question exactly the same... then again, she basically asked the same question, so I suppose I can't blame _you_ for that."

"And?" Edward asked, unable to stop himself. No one had ever noticed this about him before. It was all true, of course: he would find the perfect words with which to recount a tale and then memorize it perfectly. His flawless recall would allow him to tell the exact same speech, without fail, even if he hadn't given it in years. But no one else had ever _noticed._

"Well, I realized that something was very wrong with your confession about your father."

There was something wrong with it? Impossible. It was perfectly constructed. He'd known exactly what all of the therapists would be looking for, and exactly what to tell them. There was no way there was something wrong with it. Then again, Crane had been able to pick up on other clues he hadn't meant to drop, had he done the same in his abuse story? Edward had to know. He had to hear _Crane_ tell him. "What? What was wrong with it?"

"Well, I checked it with tapes from your other therapists, and it wasn't the same. Oh, it was basically the same, but it had little differences, as emotional accounts always do. They all sounded genuine and unrehearsed. You hit none of the markers for a falsified abuse statement."

"So, you're saying you knew I was lying because it was obvious I wasn't?" _Could_ all of this have been some sort of coincidence? Crane had just told him his statement was perfect, which he already knew. What was he getting at?

Crane narrowed his eyes a bit, obviously unhappy with him. Nigma felt himself growing suspicious again. Really, what were the odds that someone had managed to figure him out?

"No. It would have been obvious that anyone _else_ wasn't lying. Not you. _All _of the stories you tell about yourself are rehearsed, and they're always exactly the same, every time. Because telling stories about yourself combines two of your favorite things: talking and yourself."

Well, that was a bit rude. Then again, it was more evidence that Crane did indeed know him, because it was perfectly true. Edward found that he couldn't even interrupt him for the insult, because, as much as he hated to admit it, the idea that this man had studied him intently enough to discover the only thing about himself that he wanted to hide, was almost mesmerizing.

"You think over every experience you have, find the best way to recount it, and rehearse it until you can do it perfectly. Your perfect recall abilities allow you to make sure that you don't have the little differences in memory that most people do when they talk about the past.

"If your father had _really_ abused you, you'd be playing it for sympathy and attention, like you did when Batman caught you and brought you back: a cruel and ignorant man, beating his brilliant, misunderstood son. That's the story we'd be hearing, and not filtered through a false reluctance, but told with pride. And you wouldn't care if anyone believed you. I must say, I am more curious about you than ever. What could a man who advertises his crimes be so anxious to hide that he would construct the _perfect_ abuse story and make sure to tell it to multiple therapists that he knew would compare notes? Why did you _need_ them to believe you? What were you so _afraid_ of getting out that you went to this elaborate ruse on the off chance that you would actually get a therapist smart enough to drag the truth out of you?"

He'd listened to _all_ his tapes? Crane had broken all sorts of laws and asylum regulations, risking solitary confinement or other punishments, just because he wanted to learn about Edward? "Are you saying that you listened to all of my therapy tapes?"

Dr. Crane blinked a few times, clearly a bit confused by the question. Edward, however, didn't care that it confused him: it was all that Edward wanted to know. "Yes, of course. Did I not just say that?"

The idea of Crane listening to the tapes over and over, contemplating them for hours on end, pulling out the deeply buried clues that Edward hadn't even meant to leave behind, then putting them together just for the purpose of understanding him. It excited him in a way he'd never experienced before. "Multiple times? You listened to me multiple times? On the tapes, and my speeches here?"

"Yes, and by comparing them found the inconsistency. Psychology is really not so different from your beloved deduction."

Why though? Why would someone do that? Obsession. Was it possible that Crane was _obsessed_ with him? That... it was what Edward had always wanted. What he'd always _deserved_. Edward had to know if it was true. "Why?"

Crane's eyes lit up. "I was curious... about you."

Was it _really _possible? He didn't care if Crane was frustrated by his questions. Edward _had_ to know why he was doing this. He had to know if someone had, at last, _truly_ realized his genius and perfection. He wanted to grab Crane by the shoulders and demand that he tell him, but he couldn't. The guards would stop him for one, but also because he wanted to hear it from Crane without real prompting. "But why? _Why_ did you care?"

"Because you're obviously not completely insane, but I can't see what motivates you. On the surface you just look like a puffed up kid, who covers up self-loathing with narcissism, who also happens to have a severe case of obsessive compulsive disorder. But that's not what it is! Your arrogance and narcissism are _real_, not an act or persona you've built to protect yourself. And you're obsession has manifested so uniquely. You're _not_ leaving riddles just because you want to, I've heard the tapes, you can't stop. So it must be an obsessive-compulsion, but that would make you the first person to manifest the disorder in this way that I've ever encountered, and trust me, I've studied it!

"There must be a single source for all your behavior! The narcissism and the leaving of riddles as evidence of your intelligence, they fit together too perfectly to not have a single source for both disorders! And it must be fear! Everyone is motivated by fear! But its not a fear of your father, or his hatred! That doesn't make sense!"

Edward realized that he had forgotten even to breathe as he was listening to Crane's detailed analysis of his psyche. No one had ever talked this much about him, with the exception of himself, of course. The attention was absolutely wonderful. He felt _truly_ appreciated, and it was even better than he'd ever dreamed.

"I told you, jigsaw puzzles are my favorite kind of puzzles. To me, minds are like jigsaw puzzles, they give me all the pieces of the person I'm looking at. The person is the reference picture, I have to make sure that when I fit the pieces together they create the person properly. And I've realized that I'm missing some of the pieces of your puzzle, and I want to find them. Surely, you can understand that desire."

"Yes, I suppose so..." Or were people just puzzles to Crane? The way that riddles and other puzzles were to him. Things to be solved and then... But that would mean... Yes, he supposed that made sense. "And you want me to give you the missing pieces?"

"Yes, I need them. Tell me the truth about your father." Yes, he wanted his missing pieces. Of course. Well, that was too bad. Because as long as he didn't have them, he would have to keep studying Edward. It wasn't the same as the pure bliss he'd felt at the idea of being the object of Crane's obsession, but it was better than nothing.

"No."

"What?" Crane seemed angry. Not irritated or annoyed as he had before, but actually angry. It was to be expected. That was always how one felt when they realized they couldn't solve a puzzle. It was a reaction he was quite used to eliciting from people. "Why not? I solved the little puzzle you left for your therapists! Don't I _deserve_ to know? You said that you understood!"

"Tell me, doctor: what do you do with a jigsaw puzzle once you've finished it?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'll tell you! You put them back in the box and never look at them again!" Edward practically shouted. He hadn't been able to contain himself. It was too much disappointment. Crane, at least, _had_ been obsessed with him, but now it would be over. He would just be a solved puzzle, no mystery left. Easily ignored and forgotten, and he couldn't take it.

Goddammit! Why was this happening? He _deserved _to be appreciated, he was _perfect_. Wasn't he? Or was he just like everyone else? Easily ignored. But he _couldn't_ be, he was a genius. His intellect was beyond compare. But what if that didn't matter? How could it not matter? What was more important than intelligence? Why couldn't he—?

Edward was suddenly brought back into reality by a strong grip on his arm. Edward looked at Crane, assuming he was still angry, and that he would try to demand the answers out of him. Jonathan however, no longer seemed upset. In fact, he was examining him more intently than Edward had ever been examined in his whole life. It was as if he was taking in every detail of him: his expression, his body language, his eyes, everything. Jonathan looked almost entranced. By him.

Even if it was only a result of a temporary obsession, Edward couldn't deny how deeply intoxicating it was. He released some of the breath he had been holding, as felt a wave of relief sweep through him. His muscles relaxed a bit, the grip on his arm was tight, but he didn't mind it. As Jonathan's nails dug into his flesh, he could literally _feel_ Jonathan's obsession with him, spreading a sort of warmth throughout the rest of his body.

Then, all too soon for Edward's liking, Dr. Crane smiled and let go of him, leaning back with a satisfied smile on his face. "That's it, I know what happened. Of course your father never hit you, he would have only done that if he hated you, or wanted to control you. And you have to care a lot about someone to hate them, or want to control them. And your father never gave you enough attention for that, did he, Edward?

"But it wasn't always that way, was it? I'm sure he did at first. Before you could talk, probably. In fact, he probably doted on you. But one day, something changed, maybe he was unsettled by your intelligence, or maybe you just weren't turning into the son he wanted. Whichever it was, he didn't know how to deal with it, so he chose to ignore you, to push you away. The harder you worked for earn back his attention, the more he ignored you to try to get you to stop.

"And _that's_ what you're so afraid of: being purposefully ignored. It scares you so much that you constructed an elaborate ruse to make sure none of your therapists could figure out the truth. But the irony was, the fact that no one figured it out meant you were being ignored again. You knew that, and you hated it, but anything was better than people _consciously_ ignoring you."

Now what was he going to do? Was there a way to make sure that he could keep Crane's attention now? Was there anything he had said? He tried to review what he knew of Crane. Scarecrow motif, biochemist, psychiatrist, fixation on fear. ...Of course. That was why he'd looked so intently at Edward when he'd gotten upset. It was the fear. He wanted fear. Well, Edward knew he had plenty of that. It wasn't something he found useful very often, but it seemed that in this instance it might be.

If he was wrong, he had nothing left to lose, but if he was right, then he might be able to recapture Crane's attentions. He had nothing left to be afraid of, he'd already lost, but maybe, if he could _show _Crane that, make it clear that what he was afraid of was _losing _the attention that Crane had given him before, he would be able to get it back. Yes. That was his only option.

"Good to know that I've given you a few days of amusement, doctor. Now, I assume there's nothing else you want with me."

Edward watched Crane very carefully after he spoke. It was clear he hadn't been expecting cold detachment like that. Good. Crane was smart, he could figure it out. Yes, he would probably know that Edward was doing this on purpose. It was a trade. Edward would give Crane complete control over his fears, which was exactly what he wanted. And in return, Crane would be utterly obsessed with him, which was exactly what Edward wanted. Crane couldn't reject the opportunity to be able to control the complex fears created by Edward's supremely powerful mind, could he?

It was taking Crane a while to respond, did that mean he was trying to engineer a perfect response? He was clearly thinking about something. Perhaps Edward needed to make it clear that the decision was Crane's to make. He moved his arm up from the table, although he wasn't sure he would actually be able to follow through with walking away, if he had to.

Jonathan blinked, and reached up to grab his arm again. This time the grip was a bit softer, but Edward could still feel the same obsessive motivations behind it. Edward had to keep up their little game, however, he at least tried to look confused. He was sure, though, Jonathan would see the relief that was spreading through his body, and, more importantly, the fear that had returned now that he, once again, had something to lose.

"Don't you want me to answer your question, Edward?" Jonathan's grip on his arm relaxed a bit more, and Edward felt himself relax as well. He found, however, he was unable to speak immediately: his mind spinning as he watched Jonathan examine him again. "You asked me what I did with old puzzles, correct?"

"Y-Yes, that's right. Are you saying that you do something besides put them away?" Edward was sure his anticipation was evident in his voice. He couldn't help it, the idea of being the object of someone's obsession (especially someone as intelligent as Jonathan) was almost overpowering to him.

"Usually that's what I do," When he spoke, however, it was clear, that Jonathan's usual professionalism was beginning falter as well. He was equally invested in this, then. Perfect. "There was one puzzle, though, that was of a particularly lovely picture, full of intricate details, that I had never seen before. So I decided to frame it, and put it up on my wall. The fact that it was once a puzzle does nothing to diminish the artwork, after all. Artwork, can, be analyzed and examined in its own right. And often times, art is simply enjoyable to have and to look at."

Edward's knees felt weak. He hadn't been expecting that. Honestly, he hadn't known quite _what_ to expect. It was so odd. _He_ knewhis mind was a beautiful work of art, but someone else telling him that, and telling him that they wanted to be able to examine it always, was the most wonderful thing he'd ever heard. He wanted to hear it over and over again. And the most wonderful part was, he _would._ Oh, of course, Jonathan would threaten to ignore and forget him, and he knew every time he did, Edward would believe him, and he would be terrified.

But it didn't matter. Nothing mattered more than the feeling he had right now. He would let Jonathan control him, give him mastery of his fears, and let him call them up as he pleased. And every time he did, Jonathan would examine him, study him, obsess over him. And the rest of the time, when Jonathan _wasn't_ threatening him, he would be talking to him, listening to him, and paying attention to him. Every time he would see Jonathan's eyes dart to him from across the hall in his cell, he would know he was being observed. Every day, when Jonathan chose to sit with him at meals, he would know his superiority was being acknowledged.

Jonathan let go of Edward's arm and removed his glasses, placing them on the table, to show he was done psychoanalyzing him for the moment. "Now, Edward, why don't you sit back down? We can talk about something else if you'd like." It didn't matter what they talked about. The conversation would _really_ be about him, Crane would use it to get closer to him, gain better control over him. That wasn't a problem for Edward, in fact, it was exactly what he wanted. After all, you have to care a lot about someone to want to control them.

"Y-Yes, alright." And as Edward sat down, he saw... no felt, Jonathan analyzing every inch of him, for the fear that lay under his ecstatic happiness. The satisfied look on Jonathan's face told him that he'd found it, even though Edward hadn't been actively _trying_ to show it to him. Jonathan knew things about Edward that even Edward himself didn't, he would watch him, see him as precious and valuable: to him, Jonathan was a god.

**Author's Note: **Anyway, please let me know if you liked this or not, because all of my other stories are in the same vein/general theme, although some of them have a more direct reference to a romantic relationship. I have an idea for the sort of way the relationship would transform from this mutual emotional vampirism into something that was physical as well, but I'm still working on it. That is why all of these stories will have dates, as they may be written out of order.

Also, yes, this _is_ my theory of what I think Edward's backstory really is (and its more in-line with some of his usual comic book ones, from what I know of them). It just makes more sense to me this way, but I don't want to hear arguments on that really, its a matter of opinion.


	2. Chapter 2: Rope

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Batman, I do own the riddles, though.

**Author's Note: **So, remember how I said these might not all be in order? Well, here's a good example of this. By this point, there is a physical relationship. I'm going to eventually write a story about the _actual_ transition, but I want it to be perfect, and everything else I've written takes place after the transition (although I intend to write at least one more thing before, once I have a good idea for it). So anyway, this one takes place after, again, I'm not going to apologize, I told you they might not be in order. This one also is a bit shorter than the last one, and the format isn't the same. You see their perspectives in a more interlocking way than the same scene twice. Some of these will be done this way, some like the last chapter. I know, I'm a bit inconsistent, not really much I can do about it.

Also, the idea for this story was, well, basically I was replaying Arkham Asylum (which was the major motivation for me writing these stories in the first place). And I realized that there was no way Edward hid all those trophies on his own. My roommate and I have also decided that what we really want is a version of Arkham Asylum that takes place right _before_ the game where instead of playing as _Batman_ stopping the Joker and finding the trophies, you play as the _Riddler_ and you're _hiding_ the trophies.

The setting for this is the "Main Sewer Junction" room, the hardest room to find Riddler solutions/trophies in, because it's _really _tall, making the Riddler Secrets map basically worthless to you.

Oh, and I changed the date on the first story from August 3rd to August 17th, I didn't put enough time in for all the things that I assumed happened after Nigma talked to Dr. Young. Also, answers to reviewers are at the bottom, as there aren't many of you, I can do that for this story.

**Warning: **Based _heavily_ on Arkham Asylum, I cannot guarantee you'll understand everything that's going on if you didn't play the game. But I solved _all _the riddles, so this may not be the last time you hear about Riddler Trophies.

**Date: March 15th**

**Jonathan's POV**

Jonathan looked over at Edward, observing him curiously. Edward was looking up at the crumbling brick of the main sewer junction underneath Arkham Asylum, obviously formulating some sort of plan.

"There!" Edward said, suddenly pointing at a high ledge, too far from the others to jump to. He looked down at the question-mark shaped trophy with an almost mad sort of glee in his eyes, then back to the ledge. "He'll never get up there."

Jonathan looked at the precarious ledge, then back at the small-framed tech-wizard. "…And neither will you."

Edward turned to look at Jonathan, his expression suddenly changing to one of desperation as the reality of the situation set-in. "Please, Jon?"

Jonathan looked at the ledge again, then back at Edward, clearly bemused. "You're kidding me, right?"

"You're small and light! Those bricks will definitely hold you." Edward looked up at the cracked bricks, leaning back and forth to get a better idea of the structure. "Assuming that the bricks are of the same quality and integrity as those in the rest of this junction, they should be able to hold approximately 170lbs of climbing weight. That's 30lbs more than you, but 30lbs less than Batman. He'll die if he tries to reach it!"

"…Or he'll just ignore it like he will the rest of them…" Jonathan muttered, before he could stop himself. Luckily, Edward didn't seem to hear him.

When Edward had first told Jonathan about his plan, Jonathan had been more than a bit skeptical. Why would Batman be willing to pick up Edward's trophies and solve his riddles? That would just be giving in to Edward's need for attention. And it wasn't like there were any consequences for Batman just _ignoring_ them. Unfortunately, actually convincing Edward that Batman would be utterly disinterested in his little game, would not only be incredibly difficult, but, if successful, would utterly crush him.

Besides that, it would have ruined all the fun. The whole exercise was fraught with anxiety and fear for Edward ("…but what if that isn't clever enough?" "…what if that's too easy?" "…what happens if Batman wins?" etc, etc.). Not to mention the increasingly dangerous situations Edward had put himself in just to _hide_ the damn things. He'd hidden some of those trophies and interview tapes in _guard towers_. He'd come back from those little suicide missions still shaking, and Jonathan had certainly enjoyed that.

However, as time had gone on, Jonathan had begun to grow a bit weary of the whole affair. Perhaps that was his own fault, though. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't help. But then, Edward had convinced him that by leaving the most unsettling interview tapes of each inmate lying around, he could slowly fray Batman's mental state. So, seeing as Jonathan knew where the interview tapes were kept, as well as knowing Dr. Young's schedule, he had volunteered to go retrieve the tapes. He'd told Edward that he drew the line at hiding the dumb trophies , though. That had been three days ago, he'd hidden nearly ten dumb trophies since then. This madness had to stop.

"Edward, I'm not climbing up there."

Edward looked at him, clearly worried now. "But, Jon, if it's not perfect, then Batman might win! And if he wins, then he'll think he has proof that he's smarter than I am, and that can't happen!"

Yes, the right thing to do would have been to tell Edward to calm down; to reassure him that he _was_ smarter than Batman, and in all likelihood, ever other single individual on the planet; to tell him that _he_ knew that, and that Jonathan knew that, and that he didn't need a stupid game that involved the dangerous hiding of meaningless trophies to prove it. In fact, a genuine conversation containing that information could have probably fixed everything.

Jonathan Crane, however, had never been one to do the "right thing." Especially when doing the wrong thing managed to produce a high volume of fear in someone who wore it better than anyone else Jonathan had ever encountered.

Jonathan smiled a bit and ran a finger down the side of Edward's cheek. "I'm sorry, but the answer is 'no.' …I'm sure it won't make _that_ much difference." Had he emphasized the words a bit differently, the statement could have even been comforting, but Jonathan wasn't a god of comfort, now was he?

Jonathan watched as the all the possibilities of imperfection filled Edward's mind, taking in all the fear and anxiety they brought with them.

"Please, Jon! I'll do anything!" Begging had always been one of Jonathan's favorite stages of fear to watch, as it was the dying gasp of personal agency in a situation before an individual gave into their utter powerlessness; and it was wonderful to watch that agency slip away. Also, because listening to people beg and plead gave one a distinct feeling of power and control, which Jonathan relished. Yet, Edward's begging had an altogether different appeal, because, unlike nearly everyone else, Edward actually had things Jonathan wanted.

Besides, Jonathan had probably pressed enough. Although he'd found the fear induced by their interactions and relationship to be not dissimilar to the effects of his Fear Gas, Jonathan had learned that in relationships, the stage after begging was often not brokenness, but passive-aggression. Just the thought of purposefully obtuse riddles spat at him through that bitterly immature tone Edward used when upset was enough to make Jonathan's stomach churn.

"On one condition," Jonathan said.

"Anything!" Edward looked at him eagerly, clearly getting something just from the confirmation that he had something Jonathan wanted enough to agree. Jonathan looked at him for a moment, he'd truly meant it when he'd said 'anything.' If Edward _could _do whatever Jonathan asked him, he would, and gladly. Jonathan had never experienced that sort of power with anyone else, and it really was quite a rush.

Very suddenly, he grabbed Edward and pulled him close to him, corners of his mouth twitching upward at his gasp of surprise. He gently, yet firmly, gripped Edward's chin, making him look up at the archways overhead.

"Do you see that arch, Edward?"

"Yes, of course, I do."

"Well, see how, if you move to the left a bit," Jonathan took a step to the left, pulling Edward with him. "It seems to move closer to the top of this ledge here?" He pointed at the edge of the ceiling of the alcove they were standing in.

Edward looked at him. "What are you—?"

"I know you've been painting question marks using that paint you can only see with your special goggles, and you've been painting the parts separately, so he has to look at them properly to see them. If you paint one half on one arch, and the dot here…"

Edward sighed. "Yes. It would be _very_ hard to find, but one problem: how am I going to reach underneath the archway?"

"You'd have to use a rope," Jonathan suggested casually.

"But these bricks are crumbling, I couldn't secure a climbing hook anywhere, I'd have to—" Jonathan watched as a look of horrified realization came over Edward's face. "…You want to hold the rope."

Jonathan simply gave him an almost dreamy sort of smile. "I want to hold the rope."

**Edward's POV**

"Jon!" Edward yelled, as he swung wildly beneath the archway. It was just one question mark, he just had to paint it, and then Jon would pull him back up. "Stop moving the goddamn rope!"

"You should know better than to try to hide fear behind anger with me, Edward," Jon sounded positively gleeful. Suddenly, the rope went slack, and for a moment, Edward was free falling toward the bottom of the sewer junction. He screamed, and the sound echoed throughout the catacombs. Edward cursed himself: he was only encouraging him.

Had it really been worth it? Just to get a trophy on top of that ledge? Edward knew one thing, he wasn't giving Batman the satisfaction of solving _this_ one, unless it was _absolutely _perfect. If Batman was going to find it, he was going to have to go through just as much hell as Edward had to put it there.

"I can fit in a jar, yet cover entire rooms. Museums are built to house me, yet every child plays with me," Edward called up, annoyed.

"Fine, I'll hold it still while you paint!" Jon answered.

Good, Jon still had _some_ control over himself. Edward sighed and reached up to turn the goggles on, so he could see what he was painting. True to his word, Jon held the rope still while Edward painted.

"Okay, I'm done! Now lower me down and move me to the left so I can do the other half!" The roof had been too high for him to reach it while standing in the alcove, and even if he could have, he had to paint that part second to make sure it lined up perfectly.

He fell again, and this time also swung wide to the left, almost crashing into another column. Despite bracing himself, he was unable to keep himself from screaming. And somewhere, he knew he did it because he wanted the attention. This was their whole game, after all: Jon scared him, Edward was terrified; Jon enjoyed watching the fear, Edward enjoyed being watched. Still, the game was usually decidedly less _physically_ dangerous, Edward was used to the risks being more emotional.

"Edward? Have I ever told you that your screams are the most beautiful I've ever heard?" The unfortunate answer to that question was "yes." And Edward loved hearing it every time.

For a brief moment, the thought that what he was willing to do just for attention _might_ be a bit unhealthy crossed Edward's mind. He was letting his psychotic partner dangle him over a deadly drop, just because he wanted a man who he didn't even know personally, to take a picture of a question mark that he'd drawn in a paint no one else could see, in a place that no one would ever want to go. That thought, however, was quickly pushed out of his mind by Jon's next statement.

"You really are absolutely perfect!"

No. It was worth it. Every bit of it. Edward took a moment to get his bearings as the rope grew still again. "Okay, I'm painting again!"

The dot took him much less time than the top half had. He turned the goggles off. "Alright! I'm done. Now pull me up."

He was answered only with silence. His stomach sank. He'd told Jon that he was done working: he'd just given Jon complete control. He had to admit, there was something appealing about that, surely Jon would be… appreciative when he finally pulled him back up. But until then, Edward would be wondering if or when that would happen.

Edward braced himself for a drop, but it didn't come. Instead, much to his relief, he felt himself being pulled back up. Then, suddenly, he was dropped again, a _very _long way. He screamed, and heard only laughter in response. Damn.

"Ah, yes, exquisite!"

Before he could even see straight again, he was almost crashed into another column. "Jon! Really, isn't this enough?"

"Oh, but Edward, we've just started! Don—"

Then he was falling again, and this time, the drop was stopped rather abruptly. Somehow, it had caught him more off-guard than the last one, and he'd screamed again, at least until he'd been cut off by the sudden snapping of the rope as he stopped. He felt his eyes watering from the force of the stop, as well as the fear. "…Jon… please… no more…"

Damn, he sounded pitiful. Not good. Screaming was one thing, but now he sounded absolutely terrified. There was no way that Jon would stop _now._

Edward got no response, except for the sound of heavy breathing. He winced a bit. He was _quite_ aware the Jon got off to this sort of thing, but, really, had he just—?

Edward felt himself being lifted up again, and although he braced himself for a drop, it didn't come. As he reached up to grab the ledge, he realized he was actually surprised at how little Jon had toyed with him, although he wasn't about to question it.

**Jonathan's POV**

Jonathan attempted to catch his breath as he pulled Edward back up. He couldn't believe he'd just— That he'd just almost _actually _dropped him. It had all been a game (a rather _fun_ game, really), until the rope had slipped from Jonathan's hands and he'd had to catch it before it had fallen out of his reach. That had been… well, it had been terrifying. He could never tell Edward about this, of course, and given the opportunity, Jonathan knew he would do the same thing again. He was shaken enough, however, that he was definitely done for now.

Fear was something he enjoyed watching in others, but didn't really enjoy experiencing himself. It wasn't hypocritical, as much as it was an emotional form of sadism. And Edward was, in many ways, the textbook masochist (in as much as that could exist). To Edward: all attention was good attention (he was a man who considered being hunted by Batman and the police the sort of attention he was willing to _ask _for, after all), and there was nothing Edward loved more than attention.

Edward never would have dealt well with the traditional masochistic sort of physical pain though: he was too weak, and frankly, too temperamental. The after effects of most physical pain would leave Edward in the sort of mood that most people would find insufferable. As such, mental or emotional abuse was more fitting. It also made sense because Edward was a person completely wrapped up in his own mind, for someone to target that, was to target his true self.

To Edward, only the sort of torment that someone like Jonathan inflicted would really feel intimate, and intimacy was the only thing that mattered to Edward, because it meant their relationship was actually _unique_. Intimacy, however, especially when shared between two individuals of equal intellect, was a mutual experience, which was why the idea of dropping Edward terrified him so very much.

Not only would Edward be dead, but it would be his fault, and Edward would _know_ it was his fault. And he would die thinking that Jonathan cared more about his sadistic game than he did about Edward: and _that_ would be the _worst_ thought to let Edward die with. The whole idea almost made Jonathan feel sick.

He had to admit, he was still getting used to this part of their relationship. Jonathan had never really cared about anyone else before, and there were times that he found his worry for Edward's safety in conflict with his enjoyment of watching Edward while he was afraid. Unsurprisingly, in these instances, it was anxiety that usually dictated his decisions, as it had just now. In some ways, he hated the loss of control, but in others, he was fascinated by the fact that he could experience the same phenomenon that everyone else did, in spite of his superior understanding of it. It was truly a testament to the power of fear: and the accuracy of his theories.

Jonathan felt a huge flood of relief as Edward's hand gripped the ledge, and he reached down to pull him back up onto the platform. Much to his surprise, Jonathan then felt another feeling that he'd long ago relegated to something he would only be able to observe: guilt. Not as much as he should have, he knew, but enough to be unable to stop himself from grabbing Edward and kissing him as soon as he was standing.

Edward looked at him, obviously torn between enjoying the attention and being moderately put out by the sudden physicality (Edward was _very_ much about verbal foreplay). "…You could at least untie me first."

Jonathan once again watched as a look of realization came over Edward's face, although this time, it was accompanied by an arrogant sort of anticipation, instead of horror. "…Unless, you want to hold the rope."

Although he felt moderately ashamed, Jonathan was sure that his expression was identical to what it had been when he'd answered the same question a few hours before. "I want to hold the rope."

**Author's Note: **Well, that's it, as usual, please leave a review if you liked it, or to tell me what you think (because I, like Edward, am an attention whore, so I love reviews). Thanks for reading!

**Review Answers**

**sickbed00:** Thank you. I was really trying to understand the exact sort of things that could motivate Edward and Jonathan, given what we know about them, while I was writing, and I'm glad to know that I succeeded. I wanted to move away from seeing them as completely alien in motivation, and instead show them as people who have thoughts and feelings that people can relate to, but are just extreme, and lack all moral grounding.

**Rickman101: **Thank you very much. Also, I'm glad to hear you say that about the backstory, because I intend to go more in-depth to what I think is a feasible pulling together of all of what we know about Edward's backstory in the various comic settings, and Arkham Asylum/City. Either the next chapter or the one after that will go into it quite a bit, so please keep reading and let me know what you think.


	3. Chapter 3: Birthday

**Author's Note: **So, this is the story I promised about expanded backstory on Edward. I might do one or two more, because I have a complete idea for why/how this may have happened. I might do some stuff on Jon too, but his backstory is so well developed that I don't really see the need. I'm not good at like angsty flashback things, so mine tend to be emotionless examinations of scenes that convey information. I always feel weird even writing backstory stuff, because I feel like that's not really my role as a fanfiction writer, but once you see the whole version of what I'm thinking, you'll see that, to me, these were all pieces that were begging to be put together. Let's hope you agree. And you'll soon see why the date is "unknown."

Also, I'm going to upload a short almost like gag-chapter thing (it's actually one of my favorite scenes I've written so far, but it's only like 2-3 pages and it's _really_ Arkham Asylum specific, so I don't want to count it as a full update). I'm a bit busy with graduation stuff at the moment, but I'll probably put it up by the end of the day today… then again, I said that yesterday.

**Date: Unknown**

**Jonathan's POV**

Jonathan smiled as he opened his eyes and wrapped an arm around Edward's waist. Jonathan would never have thought he would be the sort of person to enjoy cuddling in the morning (or at any time of day, for that matter), but he hadn't really had much of an option: Edward required the attention. Jonathan much preferred spending a few moments curled up next to Edward to having to solve riddles before he'd even had his morning tea. In fact, as much as he'd first been rather neutral toward the activity, in time he'd grown accustomed to it, and even come to enjoy it. Although that might have been because Edward hogged all the covers, and Jonathan always woke up freezing.

Edward, however, wasn't leaning back against him like he normally did. Jonathan moved a bit closer to him, but Edward didn't respond. Edward didn't really just ignore him like this, and he wasn't asleep (Edward snored). Perhaps he was wrapped up in some new scheme or invention? Jonathan nuzzled into Edward's hair a bit and kissed his temple lightly. "Morning, Edward."

The response Jonathan got was, perhaps, the last thing he'd been expecting. "Why did he just stop, Jon? What happened?" Edward didn't really sound upset, as much as he sounded bitter.

There was only one person Edward could possibly be talking about: his father. But why would Edward be talking about his father? Normally, Edward acted as if his father never existed, because Edward could think of no greater insult to the man than to ignore him completely.

"You're a psychologist, Jon: I'm sure you have theories."

Jonathan was tempted to exploit Edward's insecurities, but he knew it was risky. Edward was unpredictable, especially when it came to the circumstances surrounding his father. And the last thing he wanted was an argument first thing in the morning, especially one where the other side argued only in incomprehensible riddles.

Jonathan sighed. "I do. But you don't want theories, Edward. You want answers, and I don't have those."

As soon as he said it, Jonathan realized that it was somewhat pathetic that it was the nicest thing he could come up with. He'd adjusted much easier to preforming the physical niceties of their relationship, than the verbal ones. Probably because his getting used to cuddling didn't make him any nicer of a person.

"Speak my name and I disappear," Edward said bitterly, as he pulled away, got out of bed and walked into the bathroom. Jonathan winced a bit at the sound of the door, not just because Edward had slammed it like a sour teenager, but because for the first time, Edward was purposefully putting separation between them.

Jonathan looked at the door of the bathroom, confused. What the hell was wrong with Edward?

**Edward's POV**

Edward knew that had been a bit mean: pressing Jon for an answer, then telling him to shut up when he didn't like it. But he was in a bad mood, and was annoyed that Jon didn't know why. It was Edward's own fault he didn't know what was wrong, because Edward had made sure no one would ever find out. The only parts of his life he kept secret were things that he would rather people not know in the first place, than risk them forgetting: and his birthday fell firmly into that category.

But Jon wouldn't have forgotten Edward's birthday, would he? There was no way to know for sure,though, so it was better for Edward just not to take the risk. It was better for today to just be like any other day.

That was a lie. He knew, no matter how much attention Jon gave him today, he would feel ignored, because it wasn't a normal day. It should have been an important day. It should have been _the_ most important day. But at the risk of anyone else _intentionally _treating it like a normal day, Edward had _chosen_ to make sure it was a normal day, himself. He knew: it was pretty fucked up.

Of course, if Jon knew, Edward told himself as he got into the shower, he would care. But he didn't know, so he couldn't, that was the only reason. Unfortunately, the fact that Edward had made it impossible for Jon to know, didn't make Edward not _want _Jon to know: it really was fucked up.

**30 Years Before Present**

"Morning, Eddie! Time to get up!"

A very young Eddie Nashton opened his eyes and rolled over to see the man who had just spoken to him and a woman standing next to him. They were both smiling down at him.

"Eddie, do you know what today is?" the woman asked.

Eddie was suddenly very awake. "It's my birthday!" Eddie was silent for a moment, clearly contemplating this. "Where are my presents?"

His parents exchanged looks, both laughing a bit. "They're downstairs, of course," Eddie's father said, picking Eddie up and putting him on his shoulders. "So, we'll just have to go get them."

Eddie laughed as his father carried him out of his room and down the stairs.

**Present**

Edward was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts by a knock on the door. He sighed. Didn't Jon realize he'd come in here to sulk by himself? If he'd _wanted_ to talk to Jon, he would have stayed in bed.

Maybe if Edward didn't answer, Jon would realize that he just wanted to be left alone.

"Edward, do you know what today is?"

Why would Jon ask that? Then again, Jon asked that or a similar question almost everyday. Edward's perfect memory meant that he always remembered any plans or arrangements that they had made. But they didn't have anything to do today, Edward had made sure of that.

"N-No, I can't think of anything." Maybe now Jon would just leave him alone.

To be fair, maybe it was for the best, pulling Edward out of his thoughts before he got too wrapped up in them. To hell with that, actually. It was his birthday, he could get wrapped up in whatever he damn well pleased. He wanted to wallow in self-pity, and that was exactly what he was going to do.

Yes, he was a brilliant, wealthy man who was in a stable relationship with someone who genuinely cared about him (albeit, in his own rather twisted way), and he wasn't currently even having to worry about being arrested by Batman or the police. But right now, none of those things were enough for him.

Right now, he wanted the birthday he'd had when he'd turned four, the one carefully planned by people who loved him. He didn't want to have to _tell_ Jon, he just wanted him to _know_. Was that really so wrong? Yes, of course it was. He'd painstakingly erased all information that could possibly enable someone to know his real date of birth. It was very wrong for him to expect his partner to know under those circumstances. But it didn't stop Edward from wanting it.

**30 Years Before Present**

"Did you have fun at the park, Eddie?" his mother asked.

"...I guess..." Eddie didn't seem very sincere as he looked back at the toy train he'd received.

"What's wrong, son?" his father asked, leaning down next to him.

"I... I don't like the other kids. They're not very fun. Some of them can't even talk," Eddie said with a pout.

His mother and father exchanged glances before his father spoke. "Son, you have to realize that you're very smart, and a lot of the other kids- probably none of the other kids- are as smart as you are. They'll be able to talk to you eventually, just not yet. You'll just have to be patient until then."

"...So, they'll be as smart as I am later?" Eddie asked.

His mother sighed. "Some of them might be, but probably not very many of them. But, it's not a bad thing, Eddie, there's nothing better than being smart."

"That's right, son," his father said. "And we're both very proud of you. Now, go put your toys away and wash up, it's almost time for dinner."

"What are we having?"

"Your favorite, of course," his father answered.

Eddie's eyes lit up. "Pasta?"

"That's right," his mother said, with a smile. "Do you know where pasta comes from, Eddie?"

"That's easy, it comes from Italy."

"Actually, it originally came from China-" His father started, but Eddie interrupted him.

"No, that's actually just a legend. Dried noodles were adapted by Arabs after they conquered Sicily in-"

His parents exchanged looks and smiles again as he spoke. "Eddie," his mother said softly. "Go wash up, you can tell us all about it at dinner."

Eddie nodded and ran off to do as he was told.

**Present**

Edward was suddenly pulled out of his thoughts again, as the water in his shower ran cold. He lurched suddenly out into the bathroom, wrapping himself in a giant, fluffy green towel, thankful that he'd bought the electric towel-rack that kept towels warm.

Edward let out a whiny sort of sigh as he looked in the mirror. Somehow, his beautiful reflection failed to elicit the same smile it usually did from. He went about his morning routine as slowly as possible. He still didn't really know how he was going to deal with Jon.

He wanted to spend the day feeling sorry for himself, but that would arouse suspicion and curiosity. He wanted Jon to know, but Edward wasn't going to tell him. The more curious Jon was, the more obvious it would be that he didn't know, and the more upset Edward would be with him for something that wasn't his fault. Edward made a face as he finished shaving: it was so fucked up.

But Edward just wanted the perfect birthday: was that so wrong? Wasn't that something _everyone_ wanted? And he'd created a situation in which he wouldn't get it, but he still expected it. It wasn't entirely dissimilar to the riddles he expected people to solve, or the death-traps he occasionally put them in: he gave them too little time to solve impossible puzzles, then was disappointed when they failed.

Was he going to feel like that about Jon after this? There was no way to know, really. He didn't _want_ anything about their relationship to change. He was happy with Jon, he really was. Why had he created this awful scenario?

For the same reason he left clues at his crimes that allowed Batman to catch him and send him back to Arkham. It wasn't because he _wanted_ to; it was because he _had_ to. Would he still want to be with Jon tomorrow? Edward hated that he was seriously asking himself this question. In a way, Jon had just become another one of his victims. He'd used his fears to make Jon obsessed with him, seduced him and bound Jon to him by being the only person who would submit to him willingly; and now, he'd trapped him in a situation that he couldn't possibly win and it was going to ruin their relationship.

Why? Why? Why? Why? Why? He loved Jon, didn't he? But he was already starting to doubt him. He'd felt almost nothing when Jon held him that morning: he'd already been upset over his father and his birthday. Jon hadn't even taken the opportunity to use Edward's issues over his father to upset him, which Edward knew must have been difficult for him. Jon _did_ care about him, and Jon had never cared about _anyone_ else before. If anything, that was proof that Edward was special and extraordinary, more than the acknowledgement of his birthday.

Was Edward really going to throw their relationship away over _this_? He didn't have an answer to that question. It was probably just another part of his neurosis. The greatest irony of this whole ordeal was that Jon could probably fix it, if only Edward could tell him.

Edward sighed and put on his robe. He still didn't know what to do about Jon, but he'd figure it out. Maybe he would lie and say he had work to do or something. Edward walked into their bedroom to find Jon fully clothed and rushing around, gathering his things.

"Oh good," Jon said, not even looking up, "you're done. I was starting to think you might not be out in time. I knew I had something to do today. I must not have mentioned it before. I have to meet Elliot, he got some drugs from Arkham for me." Jon stopped as he walked past Edward on his way out the door. He reached up and ran his fingers through Edward's wet hair, then down the side of his face until he was holding Edward's chin. He pulled Edward forward to kiss him. "I...I wasn't _trying_ to be insensitive earlier. If you want to talk about it when I get back, we can. ...I love you."

"I love you, too," Edward managed to answer, although he couldn't help but thinking, _For how long? _Would he really lose Jon like _this_? Not to some dangerous experiment or conflict with other super-criminals, but to himself and his own insanity? And was there any chance he could ever find anyone else who he could be with?

Suddenly, Edward felt himself being kissed, very passionately and realized that Jon's grip on his chin had become quite strong. Jon blinked a few times as they stared at one another; then, rather abruptly, let go of him and walked out the door.

Immediately, Edward found he wanted Jon to come back. The kiss had been unexpectedly intense, and, for a moment, everything had been surprisingly normal between them. Edward rubbed his chin a bit, as Jon's grip had been rather strong, but he hadn't minded it; if anything, it had managed to break through the wall of self-pity he'd put up around himself. For a brief instant, he hadn't felt completely alone: Jon had been very real, and very much there with him.

Edward was suddenly struck with the impulse to follow him: he wanted Jon's company, even if it was imperfect. Even if Jon didn't understand _why_ Edward wanted him around, he would probably stay if Edward made a big enough deal out of it. Edward ran down the stairs to the lower level of their penthouse. "Jon! Jon!"

No response. He was already gone. Edward sighed, now he'd be all alone for hours until Jon got back. He could have contacted him to come back, but then Jon would want a real reason. Jon was easier to convince in person than he was over audio communications of any kind, probably because fear was easier to see in a person than it was to hear over any sort of device.

**29 Years Before Present **

Eddie Nashton, now five years old, opened his eyes as his alarm went off. Immediately, he smiled and hopped out of bed, running down the stairs. "Daddy! Daddy!"

He looked around at the dark kitchen, clearly dismayed by the fact that it was empty. He ran back up the stairs, and past his room, down to the end of the hallway. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. "Daddy! Get up!"

There was no response, and Eddie started to knock on the door. "Daddy! You have to get up!"

There was a groan from the other side of the door, and Eddie's face lit up. "Go to school!"

Eddie seemed more confused by this than upset. "B-But... Daddy... it's my birthday! What about my presents? And aren't we going to—?"

"Your what? Oh... just go to school."

"B-But... okay..." And as Eddie turned away, he looked incredibly hurt, but also a bit bitter.

**Present**

Edward wrenched open the freezer and grabbed a carton of ice cream, before slamming it shut. He didn't bother putting it in a bowl, he'd just eat all of it. Edward grabbed a spoon and but stopped on his way up the stairs. It wasn't enough. He walked back into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator that held only alcohol, and grabbed the bottle of chocolate liquor.

He headed back upstairs, where he then flopped pitifully onto the bed, and began to eat his ice cream covered in chocolate-flavored alcohol. It didn't really make him _feel_ better, but it did perfect the aura of general melancholy he had been working on all day. And in so doing, allowed him to submerge himself utterly in his own misery.

**26 Years Before Present **

Eddie Nashton, now eight years old, opened the front door to his house and ran inside, carrying a large, green book. "Dad! Dad!"

Eddie ran into the living room where his father was watching television. "Dad! I won! I won the contest! See, they gave me this book of riddles! I was smarter than all the other kids! Now, you'll take me out to dinner like you promised, right?"

"What?" His father didn't even look up. "No... not now. Go play or something."

"B-But you promised!" Eddie said. And it's my birthday! You promised!" His eyes narrowed. "...You lied... you said that if I won you'd be proud of me and we'd go out for my birthday... You lied to me! Liar!"

His father looked at him, obviously not really sure about what to do. "I'll tell you what: you think you're good at riddles, right? Answer just one, and I'll take you anywhere you want."

Eddie smiled, suddenly forgetting how upset he had just been. "Yeah! Alright! I can solve any riddle! What is it?"

His father reached into his pocket and pulled something out, that was now hidden in his hand. "What am I holding?"

Eddie looked at his hand, then back at his father, confused. "...I don't know."

"Sorry, you lose."

Eddie looked confused. "But... T-That wasn't fair! You cheated!"

"You said you could answer my riddle and you couldn't." His father looked back at the television.

"T-That was a stupid riddle! It wasn't a real riddle at all! I-I hate you! I always hated you!" Edward shouted. "Cheater! Liar! Moron! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

And with that, Edward ran out of the room, clutching his book of riddles, and crying; angrily knocking over a lamp as he did so.

**Present**

The carton of ice cream now empty, Edward dragged himself out of bed and over to the bookshelf, pulling out the book of riddles. It was old now, nearly falling apart. He took it back over to the bed, which he fell back onto. He opened the book, and began to look through it. He didn't really know _why__: _he had memorized the contents long ago. Hell, he didn't know why he even still kept it.

Probably because, out of the many things he bought and used, it was the only thing he really _owned. _This book was his only possession, and he hadn't even properly earned it. He'd cheated. Not that it had mattered. This book, however, had taught him something even more valuable than riddles: that no one noticing him meant that he could get away with all sorts of things. A fact that he hated, even as he exploited it. The book, and all it represented, was all Edward really had.

At least, that _had _been true, until now. But now... what about Jon? Didn't Edward have him? Probably not for long. Edward would probably grow to resent him now, and Jon would have no idea what he'd done wrong. The idea of their relationship slowly falling apart was too much. Edward didn't want to deal with it. Maybe he would just disappear. Go back to the way things had been before, where when he was outside of Arkham, he just lived underground in an untraceable tech-lab.

He could make sure they were never anywhere near each other when they were both at Arkham, and it wasn't like Edward even _had _to stay at Arkham if he didn't want to. He would miss Jon though: the attention, the obsession, the intensity.

Wait. What the hell was he thinking? Why was Edward _planning _for this? He couldn't let this happen! What could be worse than losing Jon's obsession? Nothing! That would be absolutely terrible! All Edward had ever wanted was someone who was obsessed with him, and he'd finally gotten it, and now he was considering ruining it? No! No matter what, he had to make sure that didn't happen.

As soon as Jon came home, Edward was going to tell him. And then, presumably, Jon would do something about. And if he didn't, Edward would demand that he did, because if Edward wanted something, he demanded it, and barring very unusual circumstances, he got it. Jon would buy him a gift, and take him to dinner, and then they would come home, and make love, and go to sleep and Edward would be _happy__. _He would be _happy_ with having a significant other who knew it was his birthday because Edward had _told _him. The world wouldn't come crashing down around him. And tomorrow, he would wake up, and he would still be in love with Jon, the way he was now, and nothing would have changed.

Edward sighed and looked back out the window, wondering when Jon would get back. A few minutes later, he sat up a bit as he heard the door open. "Jon! We need to talk!"

"I know, but could you come downstairs?" he heard Jon answer.

Normally, Edward would have told Jon to come upstairs, instead of him going down. But his resolve to tell Jon everything filled him with new energy, and he rushed down the stairs. He stopped in front of Jon, who raised an eyebrow at his running through the house that way.

Perhaps it was the moderately patronizing look on Jon's face, but Edward suddenly felt a bit hesitant. "J-Jon look... about earlier, I was upset and..." Well, he had the right to be upset. He wasn't going to apologize for his behavior.

Before he could say anymore, however, Jon grabbed him roughly and turned him around. He put one hand over Edward's eyes and the other over his mouth. "Shh... Question: You get many of me, but never enough. After the last one, your life will soon snuff. You may have one of me, but one day a year. When the last one is over, your life disappears."

His mind responded almost immediately. Answer: Birthday. Then it stopped processing completely for at least ten to fifteen seconds. Jon knew. He'd known all along. It shouldn't have even been possible, yet Jon acted as if it was nothing.

"B-But how did you know?"

Jon gave a smug sort of laugh. "Because I know you."

Of course. Edward _had_ left clues behind that had led Jon to figure out that today was his birthday, despite the fact that he hadn't done so intentionally. _This_ was why he loved Jon: Edward hadn't _asked _him to solve this puzzle, he hadn't needed to. Jon had done it because he _wanted _to, because he cared about Edward: because he was obsessed with him.

Edward took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he felt the rush that he got from being the object of Jon's obsession wash over him. Edward felt his knees going a bit weak, and he leaned back against Jon.

Jon rested his head on Edward's shoulder, and placed a light kiss on his neck. "What's wrong? Didn't you want me to know?"

Edward exhaled slowly, and barely managed to answer. "...More than anything."

**Jonathan's POV**

"B-But how did you know?"

How? Because it had been obvious. When their friendship had first began months before, Jonathan had assumed that, given Edward's considerable ego, he would be expected to know and acknowledge Edward's birthday. However, upon attempting to research the date, he'd discovered that no information about Edward's birthday could be found. It was simply missing from his digital files, and was blank on all paper files that Jonathan had been able to find.

That was when Jonathan had realized that Edward would only have hidden something like his birthday, if he was so afraid that people would _forget_ it that he wanted to make sure they never could: by erasing it.

Edward had done a thorough job of erasing it too. Jonathan had even gone the hospital where Edward was born or the schools he'd attended. Eventually, Jonathan had realized that he would have to deduce Edward's birthday the day it occurred. Luckily, given the amount of effort Edward had put into erasing it, meant that he had so much emotion wrapped up in the affair that he would be in a uniquely sour mood when the day finally arrived.

Jonathan had also, however, realized he would already have to have measures in place when the day finally arrived, or it wouldn't matter that he'd figured it out. After all, if he knew and didn't actually seem to _care_that would actually be _worse_ than not knowing in the first place.

He couldn't just ignore it, though. Edward was so afraid of people forgetting his birthday, that he'd tried to erase it from existence. That was a _lot _of fear: a lot of fear that Edward still hadn't given Jonathan control of. Fear Jonathan would have to earn.

Perhaps most romantic partners would be upset at the lack of trust shown by such behavior, but it didn't bother Jonathan in the least. In fact, Jonathan _needed _opportunities like this: all gods needed to preform miracles, after all. As the God of Fear, he should be able to uncover and control _any _fear, no matter how deeply buried.

And besides that, this sort of thing was exactly what he loved most about Edward. For a person who wanted people to know everything about him, Edward kept a lot of secrets. And the best part was, that he _wanted _people to find them out, he was just afraid they wouldn't care. It was the war of fear vs. desire at its most beautiful.

Jonathan smiled a bit, pulled back into reality, as he felt Edward collapse onto him. He laughed a bit. "Because I know you."

For the next few minutes, Edward was uncharacteristically silent. Clearly, the emotional catharsis was a bit overwhelming to him. Jonathan put his head on Edward's shoulder and kissed him on the neck. "What's wrong? Didn't you want me to know?"

"...More than anything."

Jonathan smiled as Edward collapsed onto him, pulling him a bit closer. That had been close. He'd known there was a chance that Edward would have realized that he'd put Jonathan in what, under all reasonable circumstances, would be considered a no-win situation, which if he failed, would ruin the relationship. And Jonathan had known that, given Edward's greatest fear of being ignored and forgotten by someone who cared about him, he would probably find a way to overcome his compulsion to try to force Jonathan to figure it out, and instead would tell him.

That would have been a remarkable achievement for a man like Edward, who was constantly at the mercy of his compulsions: it was the sort of action one could undertake only when motivated by extreme fear. It would have been sweet, moving, beautiful even, and it would have taught Edward that he had control over his own mind: the first step on the road to recovery, in therapy terms.

And that was precisely why Jonathan couldn't let it happen. Jonathan didn't know the _exact _events that had broken Eddie Nashton, or even when they occurred, but that wasn't important. Like most behavior-based psychological conditions, the first step to fixing them was for the patient to assert control over his or her own mind. Maybe being able to accept Jonathan's imperfections was as far as Edward would be able to go, but there was no way to know that.

It might _start _with him telling Jonathan about his birthday. But soon he might be able to stop committing crimes, putting people in death traps or hiding trophies. Once someone as intelligent as Edward realized he could exert some authority over his own neurosis, he might be able to push all the way back to sanity. He might cease to be Edward Nigma at all, and go back to being Eddie Nashton.

Honestly, that would probably be better for him, and certainly be better for nearly everyone else in Gotham. In fact, the only person it wouldn't be better for was Jonathan. Because Jonathan wasn't in love with Eddie Nashton, he was in love with Edward Nigma.

A real recovery would destroy Edward: the man would cease to exist. This was one of the ways in which Jonathan and Edward were different. There was no line between Dr. Jonathan Crane and "The Scarecrow," besides a mask with a voice modification device. For Edward, that wasn't the case. That wasn't to say it was a case of dissociative identity, it was just that... Edward simply wasn't the person he _should_ have grown up to be. Jonathan had been screwed from the start, he knew that: there had never been any hope for him to be normal.

The same wasn't true for Edward. He'd had a normal life and a normal family once. At some point, that had all gone horribly wrong, but the foundations for functionality had been laid, and there was a chance, however remote, that they could be recovered. If that happened, Edward Nigma would be nothing more than a dark memory in the consciousness of Gotham, and yet another person who had betrayed Jonathan and left him alone.

There was no future for Jonathan with someone like Eddie Nashton; a sane, healthy man, a bit self-absorbed, but no more than to be expected for someone of his intellect. No sane, healthy person could be in a relationship with an emotional sadist. Even _if_ Jonathan could still enjoy sexual intercourse with him; if he could still find anything about Edward appealing when he was no longer a slave to his fears and compulsions (and therefore, a slave to Jonathan's will), how long would it be until he realized he didn't want to be frightened on a daily basis? How long until he realized he resented being lied to about serious things like their relationship ending or Jonathan putting himself in dangerous situations, just because Jonathan found him beautiful when he was afraid? How long until he realized he didn't _have _to put up with it?

And Jonathan didn't have the _best _track record for dealing with rejection. He'd only been rejected once and all people involved in anyway were either dead or paralyzed. If Edward became Eddie Nashton again, Jonathan would end up killing him. Either because he wouldn't be able to deal with the humiliation of being rejected, or because watching Edward turn into someone he couldn't stand would be too painful to endure. And Jonathan _really _didn't want to think about that possibility: just attempting to do so made him feel a bit sick. Besides, things were going so well now, it would be a shame to see all of that ruined.

Jonathan supposed it would give his life a sense of completeness: it would mean that every close relationship he'd ever formed would have ended with him murdering the other person. But... he wasn't going to let that happen this time. Suddenly, he heard an almost whiny sort of "ugh" as Edward squirmed a bit. Jonathan blinked a few times, realizing that he'd been holding Edward in a vice-grip, and relaxed a bit.

He pressed a kiss to the back of Edward's head, before reaching up to wipe away the few tears that had fallen from Edward's eyes. "Don't you want to open your present?"

Edward opened his eyes, collecting himself as he noticed the green present with the purple ribbon sitting on the table in front of him.

**Edward's POV**

"Don't you want to open your present?"

Edward took a deep breath and opened his eyes. He wasn't sure he would have been able to tell Jon anyway; he'd been having a hard time trying to find the words. Besides, this was better. He'd never felt as important or unique as he did right now. Nothing could be better than this.

Edward looked down at the first birthday gift he'd received from any one besides himself in thirty years, suddenly faced with a new problem: it was going to have to be perfect, too. If it wasn't, well, what would that mean? That Jon was simply figuring him out based on behaviors that were in someway standard or generic? That simply wouldn't do.

What was Edward thinking? This didn't make any sense. Why had everything about this day somehow become a test f the strength and validity of their relationship? How would an imperfect gift change anything? How would it change the dedicated way in which Jon studied him? Or the intensity with which Jon kissed him when he was frightened? It wouldn't, of course.

Then why was he placing so much value on something so trivial? It was an item, a thing, and Edward had countless things. He was incredibly wealthy and so hedonistic that he immediately bought everything he ever saw that he wanted, without a second thought. In all honesty, Edward was fairly certain he was now holding Jon to another unreachable standard, and that by living up to the first, Jon had only raised Edward's already unreasonable expectations.

"If you'd like, I guess you could wait until after we get back from dinner."

So, they were going out? He supposed that he could wait, it would at least allow him to enjoy the evening for a few hours. "Where are we going?"

"The restaurant on 19th Street, the Italian one. It's your favorite, after all."

That it was. No, he couldn't take it. He had to know now. Jon had done everything else right. Maybe there was a chance. Besides, he couldn't enjoy himself knowing that there was a present he hadn't opened waiting for him at home, it would be too nerve-wracking. He reached forward and grabbed the present off the table.

**Jonathan's POV**

Jonathan felt the corners of his mouth twitch as he watched Edward reach forward and grab the present. Despite the rather greedy nature of the movement, Jonathan could tell that Edward was anxious again. Jonathan wasn't sure this was as much related to his general problem with his birthday, as it was simply a manifestation of Edward's being incredibly demanding. Many people judged the validity of their personal relationships based on the ability of those closest to them to buy them gifts. It was simply a trait of high maintenance people, and Edward was certainly high maintenance (the heated towel rack in their bathroom could attest to that).

Jonathan had done everything else right, and this was the final piece to the puzzle, and it had to be perfect. It certainly hadn't been easy. The man could and _did_ buy everything he wanted: he wasn't exactly easy to shop for. Still, Jonathan was certain he had found the perfect gift that would both satisfy Edward, and cast him decidedly back into the compulsive, narcissistic pit he was threatening to climb out of.

Jonathan watched as Edward tore open the gift with all the fervor of a five-year-old on Christmas morning. Edward stopped once he got through the wrapping paper (which he tossed thoughtlessly to the floor), and looked at the gift underneath. He held up the book and examined it, obviously a bit confused. The book was green and covered in yellow question marks, in fact, it looked a lot like his coat: that had been the intention.

"W-What is it?"

"Open it and see."

Edward's hands were shaking as he opened the book, and he inhaled sharply as he read the title: _Riddle Me This?: A Complete Compendium of The Riddler. _When he spoke, he seemed to almost be in shock. "I-Is this-?"

"That's right, Edward. It's every riddle you've ever given to Batman, the police, your therapists or victims. The answers are ciphered in the back, of course."

"H-How did you-?"

"You keep them all in a massive document on your computer. I just stole that, ciphered the answers and took it to a publisher. Well, almost all of them."

Edward had flipped through the book to the back, looking at some of the last entries. "T-These weren't in that document."

"Yes, I noticed the ones you made up to give me weren't. I expected they wouldn't be, but I'd been writing them all down from the beginning, so it wasn't a problem. Those are only in this copy though, it seemed a bit too personal to put in the official version."

"This copy? There's more than one?"

"Of course, The publisher thinks it will sell rather well. I can stop it from going to market tomorrow, if you'd like, though."

It was true. And it made perfect sense. People were afraid of The Riddler, as they were all all the rogues, and they would see this book as a possible form of protection, as they would think it would help them understand him: help them solve his riddles if they ever had to do so. Unfortunately, that was the sort of thing that would only help someone skilled in psychology, like Jonathan. Most people would just be wasting their money, but they would do it anyway. Jonathan doubted _Batman_ would be too happy about it, but there was nothing he could really do: freedom of the press and all.

**Edward's POV**

"Of course, The publisher thinks it will sell rather well. I can stop it from going to market tomorrow, if you'd like, though."

"No! Don't do that!" Edward said, rather loudly, almost panicking. He turned around to look at Jon, who smiled at the sudden panic in his eyes.

Jon reached up to stroke his hair. "That's what I though-"

Even Edward was a bit surprised as he abruptly leaned forward to kiss Jon as passionately as he could, knocking his glasses askew, and ignoring the rather uncomfortable feeling of the large book now pressed between them. He reached up grip Jon's hair, as he felt Jon's fingers dig into his back.

As they separated, more than a minute or two later, Jon quickly reached down to catch the book Edward had let go of during their (for lack of a better term) make-out session. He then straightened his glasses, and attempted to push back his hair before holding the book out to Edward. "We... ah... need to get going."

"R-Right, I'll just put this away then." These moments were the most uncomfortable for them: when what could only be described as actual romantic passion interrupted the controlled mental-emotional game they spent their lives playing.

Edward made his way up the stairs and walked into their room, picking up the old book of riddles he'd left on the bed earlier, and placing it back on the shelf, next to his newest possession.

**Author's Note: **So, yeah, that's it. Hope you enjoyed it. Also, I'm just going to say, I do feel this way about both of them, at least in _this_ continuity, which is Hush-Arkham (I'm pretty sure these are the same continuity, given the fact that Thomas Elliot is Hush, but he doesn't have his updated backstory with Peyton Riley and there is no second Ventriloquist). I know in the game at some point Scarecrow says "there is no Crane, only Scarecrow" but I've always assumed that whenever he did things like that it was just to scare people, not because he actually had lost control. I think he's in control most of the time, and when he's not, it really fucks with him.

**Review Answers**

**Rickman101: **I finally gave you the backstory you wanted. I hope you enjoyed it, like I said, I have one more piece to this, and I'm trying to figure out how to work it in, so I don't know when that will come up.

AnnaMNR: Thank you! And thanks for the follow as well!


	4. Chapter 4: The Room

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Batman. I don't even own the riddles this time. I didn't own them in the last chapter either.

**Author's Note: **I know I said this would be earlier, but it turned into something a lot longer than I thought it would, but I ended up really liking how it turned out.

Also, I realize that there is a sort of serious question floating around that I can't properly answer myself, which is around what time the last chapter took place. I know the _point_ is that we don't know the date, but I'm going to assume it takes place sometime in the terrible wibbly-wobbly time between _Arkham Asylum _and _Arkham City_.

I think I also have a problem in that I forgot how much Scarecrow was involved in _Hush_ until I reread it, and I also didn't realize that _Hush_ and _Arkham Asylum_ seem to be in the same continuity until that point either. So, basically I suck, and Scarecrow and Riddler have probably known/been working together for a while before _Arkham Asylum,_ and before Dr. Young was in the Asylum. I still think they could have basically met the same way, I just doubt that Dr. Young would have been the impetus, perhaps Scarecrow was just curious or something. I don't know. Scarecrow's reasons for his involvement in _Hush_ are never made clear at all, as he doesn't seem to get anything out of it personally the way the others did. And even when Batman asks Riddler what Scarecrow got, Riddler just says "Everyone wants something," which I found obnoxiously cryptic. I will say that it's also not _entirely_ my fault, in that I thought no one would ever use the Hush plotline as a basis for anything to be continued from since it was retconned (then again, I should have realized it was a possibility when I saw that Barbara was Oracle in Arkham Universe, instead of being Batgirl like she is in the reset universe). For people who care about the larger universe continuity, I apologize.

This chapter also basically assumes their relationship takes place in a strange void in the Arkham Universe where _Hush_ never happened, even though it would have _had_ to for all the things in the Arkham Universe to be true. And I made it all worse by mentioning Elliot in the last chapter, really. I really had just forgotten the extent of Scarecrow's involvement until I was able to reread it. I guess I can make the assumption that Scarecrow was involved in _Hush_, but didn't really know Riddler personally, but that seems unlikely given the deeply personal nature of all of the events in _Hush_. Perhaps that was what made him curious in the first place? Sure, let's go with that. It's all a terrible DC Universe level catastrophe now anyway… Again, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.

Finally, because I forgot to mention this in the last author's note, the thing in the last chapter where Edward eats ice cream covered in chocolate alcohol may or may not be based on real events in which _I _threw a narcissistic pity-party for myself when I didn't get into the JET Program.

**Warnings:** _Very __Arkham Asylum _specific. If you're wondering, this takes place in a room you can find at the bottom of the elevator shaft in "Secure Transit," where Dr. Crane was living. I think Riddler must have been there at some point, because it was a riddle answer (so he knew where it was) and the computer there was hacked into the security feed, which is not something that Crane would have been able to do, at least I've never seen him do anything like it before. Also there were two chairs in that room. Also, this has some rather dark ideas on the nature of love, and a bit of… blasphemy on Crane's part, I suppose. I mean look at his backstory, the man hates Christianity, it's no secret. Just so you know, I don't, but I'm not really religious at all (although some of my closest friends are, so I'm not being ignorantly insensitive). I don't want complaints on either of these things. Neither of them are my personal beliefs on the topics, but I do think they are Crane's. I like to think my readers are mature enough to know the difference.

**Date: March 16th**

**Edward's POV**

He still couldn't believe that Jon intended for them to _live _in this place. It was disgusting. Not only that, but simply _getting_ to it was an exercise in suicidal madness: dropping down to the bottom of the elevator shaft in Secure Transit (sometimes while the elevator was,_ running_, by the way), then crawling into a ventilation duct, then into a room that seemed to be carved out of the rock surrounding the Intensive Treatment building, it was ridiculous. This room was definitely going on the list of places that Batman would have to find to solve all of his riddles.

Edward had to admit though, that Jon had a point, it was unlikely that any of the guards (or even other escaped inmates) would ever find them. To be sure of that, they had a metal plate they put up over the entrance to their section of the ventilation shaft, but that was mainly in case other inmates escaped and were looking for a place to hide. The guards weren't even looking for them, as the guards assumed they'd left Arkham after escaping.

To be fair, they _had_ left, they'd simply come back, at Joker's invitation, to be part of his little plan (or rather, to use the opportunities created by his plan to enacted their own). Jon still wanted revenge for Batman catching him back in February.

Of course, Edward had _attempted _to clean the damn place, but to no avail. He was convinced that all of Arkham was uncleanable: too many layers of filth, mold, cobwebs and bodily fluids had been accumulated on every surface for it to ever be truly clean again. Perhaps, it never had been in the first place. The ceiling out of his reach was still basically solid cobwebs, their occupants threatening to descend upon him as he slept. That was, _when_ he slept; which wasn't as often as it should have been, because Jon thought straw was the only bedding they required, as if they were livestock instead of civilized human beings.

Oh, Edward had _tried_ to protest. He'd complained, he'd pushed all the straw into a pile for himself, he'd spoken to Jon using only riddles for over twenty-four hours, but none of it had done any good. After all, he knew Jon was right; this was probably the only place they could stay in Intensive Treatment with no chance of getting caught. That didn't mean Edward had to like it.

At the end of the day, however, all he could do was bring back a fire extinguisher (necessary for peace of mind in their room full of poorly wired lighting, straw and paper), curl up on his unreasonably large pile of straw, and wait for his self-pity to lull him to sleep.

**Jonathan's POV**

Jonathan came back the hidden room to find Edward asleep. Jonathan knew that Edward was miserable living this way, and to be completely honest, Jonathan wasn't thrilled with it either. Of course he would have preferred to live in a nice apartment, with things like a bed, and a shower, and a kitchen, but that wasn't happening right now. He _had_ enjoyed living on the outside for a few weeks, especially in the luxury that Edward had insisted upon (and, more importantly, paid for), but they both had work to do here.

Jonathan did, however, recognize the need to do _something_ to customize the space. As such, he had thought to grab some decor while he was in the medical facility working on his Fear Gas: skulls from outside the cell where Killer Croc was sometimes kept. He smiled a bit as he placed them around the room, his smile broadening as he looked at the last one, then down at Edward's sleeping form.

He then lay down, curling up next to Edward, even though the pile of straw was really too narrow for two people (and one of those people was Jonathan Crane). Jonathan ran his fingers through Edward's hair, carefully removing some of the straw that was now stuck in it, placed a kiss on his cheek, and then placed the final skull directly in front of his face, before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

**Edward's POV**

Edward _should_ have woken up feeling warm and safe. He _deserved _that. He'd been living in this awful hell-hole of a room for almost three days now. His pores were clogged, his clothes were ruined, and he would _never_ get all of the straw out of his hair. And he had endured. No, not silently; perhaps, not even with dignity, but he hadn't left the island (although that was mainly due to the fact that he still had trophies to hide).

It wasn't that he would have even _expected _comfort, except that it had been dangled in front of him; like meat in front of a starving dog. Jon had come back the night before and fallen asleep, curled up next to him, _holding _him. Given that, Edward should have woken up to the realization that, despite their horrible surroundings, at least he could take comfort in _something._

But no! He hadn't. Instead, he had woken up screaming in terror, because the first thing he'd seen upon opening his eyes was a _goddamn human skull staring him in the face. _

There were times that Edward idly wondered what it would be like to be a bit more normal. Not _completely _normal , mind you, that would be unbearable; just ever so slightly more normal. For example, a more normal romantic partner would have left a flower, or candy, or perhaps a piece of jeweler next to him while he slept. But Jon? Nope: skeletal remains. And worst of all, Edward knew that, in a way, it was _supposed_ to be romantic.

Indeed, after he was done screaming, the first thing he heard was a rather smug, "Mmm... what a lovely morning." He felt Jon nuzzle into the back of his neck. "It's not often I get to wake up to my favorite sound."

Screams of terror: Edward's, specifically. Of course, those _would _be the best. Edward felt himself relaxing into the grip around his waist. Yes, the healthy thing to do would have been to pull away, and demand that Jon find a less abusive way to express his feelings. But then, he might have lost some of Jon's obsessive attentions, and Edward couldn't have that.

Edward had never really been much of a morning person, and by that, he meant that he didn't deal well with being awakened violently. He was already starting to feel nauseous, and he was now shaking a bit. Edward closed his eyes again and pushed back against Jon, trying to imagine that he was back in the clean, luxurious, high-tech apartment they'd lived in after their escape; instead of a spider-infested fire hazard, sleeping on straw and surrounded by human remains.

Soon, however, Edward found this impossible: the straw was poking through his shirt into his back, and every time a piece brushed against his skin, he was sure it was actually a spider, and he twitched reflexively. And he knew, no matter how tightly he kept his eyes shut, as soon as he opened them the skull would be there waiting for him. He felt a defeated whimper escape his throat.

Edward had attempted to sound moderately afraid (at least that way, he could get some attention out of it), but he knew it had come out sounding more petulant than anything else. He heard Jon snicker a bit. Great, now Jon was laughing at him. Could this morning possibly get any worse?

**Jonathan's POV**

Could this morning possibly get any better? Waking up to Edward's screams really had been lovely. So much so, that it occurred to Jonathan that he should record the sound at the next opportunity, so he could use it as an alarm: he doubted that he could get the genuine article every morning, after all.

And now, Edward had started shaking. Jonathan pulled him a bit closer, smiling at the sight of the minute movement of Edward's hair caused by his trembling. However, when Edward whined, Jonathan realized that the primary emotion wasn't fear, but something Jonathan could only describe as surliness.

Perhaps Jonathan had gone a bit far? But those screams had a sounded so lovely. Jonathan supposed he would have to find a way to distract Edward from his less than satisfactory surroundings. And Edward's screams had more than put him in the mood to do so.

Jonathan pushed himself up, straddling Edward on the straw. Edward seemed a bit confused until Jonathan leaned down to kiss him. To Jonathan's surprise, Edward didn't respond to his advances by leaning into the kiss or yielding to him. Instead, he squirmed and pushed Jonathan back, almost roughly.

"What do you think you're doing?" Edward seemed confused and unsettled, and possibly a bit annoyed.

Jonathan gave him a condescending look. "I believe that's rather obvious."

"You want to have _sex_? _Here_?" Edward sounded as if the very idea was offensive to him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _me_? We had sex yesterday: in a sewer junction. At least here, I won't lose any more of my clothing." During their encounter the previous day, Edward had gotten a bit... overeager and dropped Jonathan's shirt into the bottomless chasm of the sewer junction. And, seeing as there weren't exactly stores on Arkham Island, Jonathan had simply had to go without.

"Well, there is no way we're doing that _here_! It's disgusting! My bare skin is _not_ touching this floor!"

Jonathan smirked a bit. "Fine, then." He moved rather suddenly, reversing their positions. "Better?"

Edward still looked a bit sour, but didn't immediately seem able to voice any complaints. He leaned back, resting his back against Jonathan's legs. His eyes glanced upward for a moment and he folded his arms. "You know, the dangling spiders aren't exactly a turn-on."

Jonathan sighed, and reached up to undo the top buttons of Edward's shirt. He sat up and leaned forward to kiss him, as he pushed Edward's shirt off of his shoulders.

"I'm serious, Jon! Stop!" Edward whined and pushed him away, but did so rather weakly. Jonathan knew Edward was going to be difficult, but he knew Edward wanted it. He wanted Jonathan to _seduce_ him: for him it was more about the attention than it was about the sex. It wasn't that he didn't have sexual desires, but his desire for attention was much stronger than his desire for sex, and, as a result, was the driving force behind most of their sexual activities.

"I can't help how perfect your screams were, Edward."

"That's not going to work, Jon… I'm not—ah…" Edward was beginning to yield, though. He sighed a bit as Jonathan kissed his neck, and leaned up against him.

**Edward's POV**

"I'm serious, Jon! Stop!" Edward protested, but he knew the protest was rather weak, as was the push he gave Jon. He knew Jon was just doing this to distract him from how unhappy he was here, but it was pretty hard to get in the mood in such abysmal surroundings.

"I can't help how perfect your screams were, Edward."

No, he wouldn't give into that, Jon was going to have to work harder if he wanted this. "That's not going to work, Jon… I'm not—ah…"

Edward felt a sigh escape his lips, as Jon kissed his neck. He knew Jon usually had more control over his sexual feelings than Edward did, except when fear was involved, which usually gave him the upper hand in these situations. But his loathing of their new living environment had given Edward clarity that he usually lacked.

Jon began to remove more of the straw from Edward's hair. "You won't have to put up with this much longer. I know you're hardly suited to living in a place like this. You deserve better surroundings."

Well, that was certainly true. But Edward knew that already. It _did_ make him feel a bit better to hear Jon admit it. Honestly, he'd been beginning to feel as if Jon thought he was being ridiculous with his grievances and constant irritation with their living space. He knew that Jon's rather unconventional upbringing had resulted in him being accustomed to living in the most uncivilized of conditions, but that didn't mean there was something wrong with Edward's disliking them.

"There, that's better," Jon said as he removed the last of the straw and ran his fingers through Edward's hair, putting it back in place.

Edward closed his eyes as Jon leaned in to kiss him softly. As he did so, he was much better able to envision himself back home in his apartment. It reminded him of the sort of soft, experimental kisses they had shared when their relationship had first began. After they'd slept together for the first time, and had been attempting to fully understand the physicality of the relationship.

Edward didn't respond to Jon's comments. He didn't want to talk right now. After all, this was the part where he got to listen to Jon tell him how wonderful and perfect he was.

"Don't worry. You'll be able to go home in a few days. You have to leave before Joker's plan really starts."

"I know…" Edward kept his eyes closed as he felt Jon finish removing his shirt, resting his arms on top of Jon's, his fingers running across the muscles that struggled to survive on Jon's emaciated frame. Soon, they would be back home, and they would never have to see this awful room again.

Suddenly, Edward opened his eyes, blinking a few times. "…You're staying here."

It was a fact that Edward had known all along, but hadn't really comprehended in relation to its effect on him. Frankly, Edward wasn't the best when it came to understanding the effects that the actions and decisions of others had on his life. To be fair, he hadn't really shared his life with anyone else before, so it was to be expected.

But how long was all of this supposed to take? What was Joker really planning to accomplish with his army of titan things? Would there actually be any lasting consequences from this that could affect Edward or Jon? How long would it be until he saw Jon again? What if something happened to him? They were going to stay in contact the whole time, of course, but what if something happened to the network or their communication devices?

And what about after? They'd only escaped because of Joker's plan, and their escape had been the impetus for their relationship in the first place. What happened when the plan was over? Would things still be the same between them? The life they'd shared had all been constructed in the context of this scheme, what happened when that context was gone? He'd thought that Jon's obsession with him would ensure that Jon wouldn't leave or abandon him, but what if they were separated by something external? Would Jon care enough to come back to him without a more concrete motivation?

**Jonathan's POV**

"…You're staying here."

It always amazed Jonathan that Edward could be so wrapped up in himself that he was unable to understand simple concepts like this. They'd discussed Jonathan's plan multiple times, Edward had hacked the security feed for him so he could see when Batman came in with Joker. Edward had spent two days setting up the network that would allow them to communicate while Joker was carrying out his little plan. Yet somehow, in the midst of all that, Edward had never comprehended that it meant that they wouldn't be together anymore.

Jonathan smiled as he watched Edward's fears about their separation float to the surface. He could tell they were reaching a sort of critical mass, and all it would take to unleash them was the right prompting.

"Yes, that's right." Jonathan wasn't sure he'd actually come off as indifferent, or if his anticipation had broken through. If it had, however, it was clear Edward hadn't noticed.

"But, Jon! What if Joker's stupid plan works? Then what are we going to do? And what if he betrays us? He's not exactly known for his honesty!"

Last time Jonathan had checked, he and Edward were the ones betraying Joker. Joker didn't know that Edward could access Oracle's network. He didn't know Edward and Jonathan would be in contact the whole time. He didn't even know they were working together. He didn't have any idea what Jonathan was planning to do, and he didn't know how much Jonathan knew about his involvement with Dr. Young and her Titan Project. The Joker simply wasn't that smart, Jonathan was pretty sure they had the upper-hand.

Besides, Joker's plan to make an army was a pipe-dream. The Titan compound was unstable. Any subject injected with the compound would die of cardiac arrest within their first few hours of life. Even _if _he managed to release an army, it would only have a shelf life of two to three hours at most: even the Gotham police could hold them off _that_ long. Besides, if he somehow managed to stabilize it and released a real army, Batman would just call in Superman and his other friends to clean up shop. Even at its most successful, this plan would probably be over by the next morning.

All of that information would have been incredibly comforting to Edward, and most of it was information Edward was quite aware of, but his emotions were currently blocking him from accessing it. Unfortunately, reminding Edward of these facts would have destroyed the beautifully frightened look on his face right now.

"I assumed you'd already planned for those eventualities," Jonathan answered. "You're the super-genius, after all."

"Are you saying that you don't care if we don't work together anymore after this is over?"

"That's not really something I have control over, is it?" That would upset him. If Jonathan didn't want to control something, it probably meant he didn't care about it at all.

"So this was what? Some sort of game for you?" Edward pushed Jonathan back over, so he was lying on his back, with Edward leaning over him. Edward looked absolutely terrified: it was really quite exquisite. "Is that what I've always been to you?"

Edward had grabbed the collar of Jonathan's hood, and was holding it so tightly his knuckles were turning white. Jonathan just sort of stared at him for a moment, Edward looked as if he was about to cry. It was clear that in this moment, his entire being was wrapped up in that single question. Jonathan couldn't answer yet. He just wanted to keep watching Edward get lost in his own fears.

Besides, Jonathan knew that there was a chance that their separation would change Edward's mind about the situation. Perhaps taking a step away from their relationship would enable him to evaluate objectively that the attention wasn't worth the abuse. Edward might be able to convince himself that he could find someone else: and Jonathan couldn't have that. He had to make sure Edward felt that they had a strong, emotional bond that would make those sorts of questions more difficult to ask.

"Well? Is it? Do _I_ mean anything to you?"

"Are you sure you want the answer to that question, Edward?" Perfect. It made it sound like the answer would upset him, but he knew Edward could never choose ignorance over knowledge.

Edward _was_ crying now, just a little. They were the sort of tears that only occurred when someone was feeling pure fear, anger or some other negative emotion. He didn't even seem to notice or care about them.

"Of course I do! I wouldn't have asked it otherwise! If this has all been some sort of game, then _I_ deserve to know!"

"How about a riddle, Edward?"

Edward's eyes narrowed. Edward would certainly think that meant Jonathan wasn't taking this seriously. "If you've tricked me—"

Edward looked afraid still, but also angry. It was probably best that this was going to be over soon. Although it was true that Jonathan could easily win a physical fight, there were plenty of ways that Edward could kill Jonathan if he was properly motivated. And frankly, Jonathan didn't particularly enjoy the idea of dying in one of Edward's overly-complicated, but still rather lethal, contraptions.

"Question: What can touch a person once, but last a lifetime?"

**Edward's POV**

"Well? Is it? Do _I_ mean anything to you?" What if he didn't? What if this had all been a game of convenience for Jon? What if he wasn't really special to Jon or anyone else? What would that mean? How would he handle that?

"Are you sure you want the answer to that question, Edward?" No. He wasn't. Well, he wanted the answer that _he_ wanted. He wanted to hear that he was special and perfect and that Jon thought he was utterly irreplaceable. Not that Edward could deal with not knowing at all. That would be terrible. It would drive him insane.

"Of course I do! I wouldn't have asked it otherwise! If this has all been some sort of game, then _I_ deserve to know!"

"How about a riddle, Edward?"

What? Was Jon _really _just playing with him? Edward's eyes narrowed. "If you've tricked me—"

If their whole relationship had been a lie, well, that would be the end of Dr. Jonathan Crane. Edward was already imagining the perfect end for him. Something in a ruined church, with crows: yes, that would do nicely. Of course, there would be a way out. There always was. Then again, Edward would make sure that the only way Jon could escape was by truly caring about him. Perhaps a device that read and mapped his brain's reaction to certain stimuli, tested against the reactions that other people had when interacting with those they cared for. That would work. Personal questions were too easy. If this was a lie, Jon had managed to trick him by using psychology: Edward wouldn't give him that opportunity again.

Edward didn't _want_ it to end that way. But what _else_ was Edward supposed to do if Jon left him? Just let him go? That wasn't an option. Edward would be tricked, humiliated. He wouldn't stand for that. It wouldn't even be that hard to catch Jon off-guard. In fact, it would be all too easy. All Edward would have to do was make sure Jon could only access the compounds needed for his beloved fear gas through certain channels. Edward would make sure it didn't seem suspicious; he'd simply let some of the runners usually under his protection end up on Oracle's radar. With a limited number of drug cartels to choose from, tracking Jon's movements would be easy.

Edward would use his spies to infiltrate the drug cartels, and then as soon as Jon set up a meeting with one of them, Edward would be there to intercept him. He knew the grade of gas-mask Jon used; Edward would just have to make a knock-out gas with particles small enough to make it through his filter. It wouldn't be hard: a few weeks of work at the very most for the whole plan. Well worth it for the months of lies that Jon had put him through.

"Question: What can touch a person once, but last a lifetime?"

Answer: Love. Edward's mind did an immediate reversal. Jon was in love with him? Jon was in love with him. Edward hadn't been loved in so long, and he'd truly wanted it: maybe as much as the attention and recognition. It was hard to know. It felt incredible, though.

Edward managed to collect himself a bit. It made perfect sense. "Well, of course you're in love with me. How could you not be?"

**Jonathan's POV**

"Well, of course you're in love with me. How could you not be?"

Jonathan was barely able to hold in a laugh. Edward had gone from beside himself with worry to completely self-assured in less than thirty seconds. He supposed Edward was only proving his own point though; there really was no one else like him in the world.

As much as Edward clearly thought it had been obvious to Jonathan, though, it really hadn't been. Although his feelings toward Edward had changed fairly little over the course of their relationship, Jonathan had still had a difficult time determining exactly what those feelings were. He'd spent much of the last few months trying to figure out _if_ he was in love with Edward, if he was even _capable_ of feeling love, what the implications of his being in love would be.

He'd attempted to define love, as a concept. Webster's dictionary told him it was the "attraction, desire, or affection felt for a person who arouses delight or admiration or elicits tenderness, sympathetic interest or benevolence." Jonathan knew from his studies of psychology, that romantic love was basically a disease, and was in many ways not dissimilar to heroin addiction in terms of its effects on the human body.

And, much to his chagrin, there was a third definition that he was unable to erase from his memory, courtesy of his grandmother, "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth." He'd, of course, disregarded the latter definition. Not only did he have a deep and abiding hatred for the Bible, but it actually contradicted many of the things he found _most_ endearing about Edward.

It had been at about that point he'd actually decided to throw the whole exercise out, as it wasn't doing him any good. He'd never been attached to another person the way he was to Edward. The idea of Edward dying was (as he'd confronted the day before) deeply upsetting to him. He was also sexually attracted to him, which was also a fairly new phenomenon for Jonathan, and honestly, he was beginning to have a difficult time envisioning the rest of his life without their relationship being a part of it. As far as he was concerned, he was in love. Love was completely subjective anyway, at the end of the day, it was a decision someone made: either they were in love, or they weren't, and no definition written by anyone else could overcome that decision.

Jonathan had decided to love Edward, therefore he did. It was that simple. It had nothing to do with fate or hormones or circumstance. It was a decision, like every other decision he'd ever made, and he'd made it because he was fairly certain his life would be better for it. Telling Edward that he was in love with him would only bind Edward to him more permanently. Edward _clearly_ wanted love, and felt as if he was starved for it. Also, the fact that he probably hadn't been loved since he was a small child would mean that he wouldn't think he would be able to find anyone else to love him.

Jonathan _did_ love him, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to use that feeling to his advantage. Love was no more pure or good than any other feeling in the world, after all. It was a strong feeling, like fear, and like fear, that made it useful. Love had power over people, and Jonathan _did_ enjoy power. It usually wasn't worth it, though. He'd given Edward power over him as well, after all; to Jonathan, however, it was simply worth the power he got in return. Edward wasn't going to run off now, or shut him out, no matter what happened. Edward _needed_ him now, and that was exactly what Jonathan wanted.

Jonathan smiled a bit. "I suppose, you're right. You are perfect." He leaned forward and kissed him, enjoying the residual fears he could taste in the kiss. Although he was a bit surprised at how much raw passion there was in it as well, although he supposed that made sense. Much to his surprise he felt Edward reverse their positions, as they kissed, so he was underneath Jonathan again.

**Edward's POV**

"I suppose, you're right. You are perfect."

Yes, yes he was. Edward couldn't describe how wonderful he felt, Jon would never leave him, not now. At least, not as long as he loved him. As they shared what he was almost certain was their most passionate kiss, however, it occurred to Edward that love didn't always last. In fact, it could end, quite suddenly, and without warning. And Edward couldn't let that happen to him again.

What would be sure to keep Jon loving him forever? Then, suddenly, it was obvious. After all, wasn't eternal love the sort of thing a god was supposed to do? Edward reversed their positions again, so Jon was on top of him. Edward ignored the straw pressed up against his bare skin. None of that mattered now.

As Jon pulled away, Edward reached up and ran his fingers through his hair. "Jon… I love you."

Jon seemed almost confused by this; he probably hadn't been expecting Edward to evaluate whether or not he returned Jon's feelings. To be fair, Edward hadn't really been thinking about it until just now. When he thought about it, though, the answer was fairly obvious. Of course he loved Jon; Jon was the only person who had ever truly acknowledged how perfect and amazing Edward was, after all. It was good that he wasn't talking though; it gave Edward the chance to say what he needed to.

"I mean, don't I have to? You are my god, after all." He did mean it, even if he was using it to his advantage. There weren't any sort of rules about whom or what someone could deify, after all. A god was defined by their worshipers, after all. Jon was a god, because Edward wanted him to be. Because Edward wanted to feel like he had the love and approval of an authority figure, perhaps because that had been the love he had lost so long ago. When he thought about it that way, it was pretty twisted, but, then again, Edward was pretty used to twisted at this point.

**Jonathan's POV**

"Jon… I love you."

Well, that had been surprising. Jonathan had sort of assumed Edward would be so wrapped up in himself that he wouldn't bother to figure out how he felt about Jonathan in return. It hadn't really bothered him, though. It was the fact that _he_ loved Edward that gave him power over him; Edward's feelings were really inconsequential.

Given that, Edward's words had more of an effect on Jonathan than he would have thought. He felt a strange warmth inside of him, that he wasn't quite sure how to deal with. It was pleasant, but confusing. Before he could really analyze it, however, Edward's next words caused his mind to freeze completely.

"I mean, don't I have to? You are my god, after all."

Jonathan blinked a few times. Had Edward just…? Jonathan took a deep breath as he processed the words Edward had just said. Jonathan could tell that he was perfectly serious, it wasn't a lie or deception meant to manipulate him. Perhaps Edward was using his _real_ feelings to manipulate Jonathan, but that didn't change what those feelings were in the first place.

Before he was even completely aware of what he was doing, Jonathan had leaned forward to kiss Edward, pinning him to the ground and beginning to remove the rest of his clothing. He felt Edward reaching up to do the same to him. At this point, they were beyond words, a rare occurrence for them (in fact, it was the first time Jonathan could remember it happening), and as much as it was strange to be completely swept up by romantic fervor, Jonathan couldn't deny that there was something enjoyable about the experience, even though it meant a certain relinquishing of control.

Jonathan would always love Edward now, no matter what happened, because Edward truly acknowledged and believed in his divinity. To Edward, he was a god, and that was all that mattered. Of course, that was why Edward had told Jonathan about how he felt, but that didn't matter. They were stuck together for the foreseeable future now, which had clearly been all either of them had wanted.

Sure, they could have had a heartfelt conversation about it, like any other couple in their situation would have. But, really, would that have been as good? Maybe. Hell, maybe it even would have been better. But "better" was a subjective term. What use did people like Edward or himself have for it anyway? It held all sorts of connotations of mental health and normalcy, and none of those things applied to them. After all, what would normal people know about how it felt to be a god?

**Edward's POV**

Edward moaned a bit as Jon reached down to undo the buttons of his pants. He couldn't help but smiling a bit as he caught a glance of the skull that he had first seen upon waking up that morning. As much as he still found the room utterly distasteful; at that moment, Edward couldn't think of anywhere he would rather be.

**Author's Note: **Okay, I think that's it. I really wanted the whole like acknowledgement of love thing to be perfect, and I hope I succeeded on that. It just seemed like the right situation, even if it makes the timing of the last chapter not make as much sense as it should. I was sort of worried about this being well done, so I hope you liked it.

**Review Answers**

**Rickman101:** I'm glad to hear that you enjoyed it! I was hoping you would! As I said, I have one more piece of this that I've theorized, although I'm still trying to figure out how to get it into story form. Especially because now it all has to be worked out with the stuff I've realized about _Hush._ Thanks for the compliment. I was actually raised by a psychologist and have taken a few classes, so I like to think I have insight into psychology on that front (my mom actually hates, Dr. Crane, though, because he's so evil…).

**AnnaMNR: **Thanks! Glad you enjoyed it.

**Katherine:**Actually, I understand that. I'm a review whore, but I rarely review anyone else, because I'm super busy and don't actually read that much fic. But thank you for reviewing my story! I also see psychology as a sort of hobby (as I mentioned in my other review answer, my mother is a psychologist, so I grew up surrounded by it). And yes, I feel like my Crane is less cold and emotionless than most, but that's basically because I always thought emotionless Crane in a relationship made no sense. Relationships are about fear, because people are always afraid of them ending, but if you don't give out any affection then you can't threaten to take anything away. And fear is always in the threat, not the action. I actually have a story that goes into this, but now has some continuity issues due to my realizations about _Hush_, but once I fix those, I should be able to post it. Again, thanks for reading and reviewing!


	5. Chapter 5: Danger

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Batman, if I did, it would be more organized. Also we would be getting the _sequel _that was hinted at in _Arkham City,_ instead of a prequel that had no set-up in the last game. Thanks for that one, Warner Bros.

**Author's Note: **So, I'm really sorry that this chapter is so far overdue, but I haven't had a working computer for about a month and was getting by with my tablet, which sucked. I used my friend's computer for my last update, but hadn't be able to really type up anything new since. Then, I was back home visiting my family, and then I came back and had class starting again, and since they're summer classes they're relatively intense. But I finally got my computer's charger, and it's completely fixed, so we should be back to once a week updates. I'm sorry about this, again.

Also, this chapter is the one I mentioned last time, that is completely inconsistent with my other theories about the Arkham universe, which (upon replaying _Arkham City _in its entirety), is that the _Hush_ Universe and the Arkham Universe are related, but not the _same_. I hadn't played Hush's part of _Arkham City_ before, but upon doing that I realized the links between Hush, Riddler, Scarecrow and Zsasz if you solve all of their crimes, and find Scarecrow's boat. Also I didn't know that Batman didn't know Tommy was Hush until _City_, because its implied that he knew in _Arkham Asylum_, although it was clear from the interaction in _City_ that he didn't. I guess that made sense as he was still a doctor at Arkham in _Asylum. _

That being said, you may see some of my ideas of what was going on during _City_ now that I have actually played the _whole_ game (I was so lazy the first time, in retrospect). Anyway, keeping that in mind, this chapter really has nothing to do with the Arkham Universe and is instead set in the _Hush_Universe, not to be confused with the current comic book universe, which has basically retconned all relevant parts of _Hush. _God, I hate you DC.

So, keeping that in mind, this sort of assumes that Crane didn't know about Edward's use of the Lazarus Pit The comic doesn't really tell us one way or the other, although I can assume, given Edward's missteps in regards to thinking that Elliot would _want_ to cure his mother's cancer, that Crane wasn't helping him at that point, because (as Crane had known Elliot for years, and is actually _good_ at understanding people), he would have known better.

Also, this story is a bit different in that I wrote it right after the first one, but have held it, I don't really know why, mainly due to the inconsistencies I realized existed between _Hush_ and _Arkham, _I guess. Sorry if it doesn't make sense in a wider context, try not to think about that. The others still work that way. Also, this is done in a format similar to the first, but the outside point of view wasn't in the first one, but it's here for a reason. This is why this has no date, it isn't in the Arkham Universe. Stories that are will have dates, I promise.

I also held this because I wanted to make sure you trusted me before I posted it. The _point _of the first part is to think that it _seems_ out of character. If it seems that way, keep reading. One of the most fascinating parts of their relationship to me is how it could _seem, _at least sometimes, like a healthy, normal relationship, but for all the wrong reasons. I like to emphasize the weirdness, usually, but this was an exercise in the opposite. Let me know what you think, if you like it, I may try to come up with more like it, if not I'll probably go in another direction. Thanks for reading, and for waiting!

**Date: None **

**Outside POV**

"What is it that, once you reach, you no longer have?" Edward asked, as Jonathan picked up his mask and headed for the door.

"You want to know where I'm going?"

Edward nodded. "And when you'll be back would be nice too."

Jonathan was silent for a moment. "I don't know when I'll be back. I got a message from Ra's al Ghul that I need to meet with him immediately."

Edward seemed worried. "Ra's al Ghul? About what?"

"I don't know. He didn't say."

"He called you _himself_?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me? I have to go with you!" Edward seemed rather upset, and began to formulate a plan. "First, I'll have to hack into his network to see if he's got anything planned. His firewalls and lock-outs are pretty solid, but nothing I can't handle. It shouldn't take me more than half an hour."

"He was very clear that I have to go alone."

Edward looked at him. "Then I'll just follow you. You're not going alone."

"That will just make it more dangerous for both of us. You know how Ra's is."

"...Yes, I do. That's why I'm telling you, you can't go. Honestly, we may need to leave." Edward's voice was deadly serious, but nervously so.

Jonathan's voice held its usual pragmatism. "Ra's isn't the sort of person you can run from. If he wants me for something, I probably don't have much of a choice."

Edward grabbed him by the shoulders, clearly upset that Jonathan didn't seem to grasp the severity of the situation. "Jon! You can't go!" His voice was demanding, but it was beginning to shake. "_I_ love you! And you're not going to get yourself killed!"

Jonathan looked down at him, staring at him for a moment, before reaching up to softly stroke his cheek. "Edward, you know I don't have a choice."

"Jon! Please... This isn't..." Edward clung to him, obviously a bit torn about telling him anything else. "...Just promise me you'll come back."

Jonathan reached up to stroke his hair, wrapping an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. "Edward," he reached up to wipe away the tears, and Edward leaned into his touch. "There's no way to know the future. You know I can't promise you that."

Edward fell completely silent as he looked up at Jonathan. He began to cry, but still made no sound.

Jonathan watched him for a few moments, then suddenly leaned down to kiss him. The kiss was intense and passionate, both men were breathless as they separated.

"Edward," Jonathan whispered, this time his voice more delicate. He placed his hands on either side of Edward's face and looked into his eyes, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "I'll be back, I promise. Don't be afraid."

Edward looked at him, instantly relieved, and leaned up to kiss him again. "I love you."

"I love you, too." And with that, Jonathan walked out the door.

**Jonathan's POV**

"What is it that, once you reach, you no longer have?" Edward asked, as Jonathan picked up his mask and headed for the door.

Jonathan stopped. He supposed he _should_ have mentioned it earlier. Edward was obviously annoyed that Jonathan was leaving without telling him. Jonathan had learned that when Edward was annoyed, he spoke only in riddles. Jonathan had to solve them to prove that he cared enough about Edward to put that sort of effort into general conversation. The answer was obvious, given the context: a destination.

"You want to know where I'm going?"

Edward nodded. "And when you'll be back would be nice too."

Jonathan was silent for a moment. He was just going to meet some drug-runners for ingredients for his Fear Gas. Routine stuff, really. Almost no risk of Batman showing up, and even less risk of there being any _real_ danger. Probably wouldn't take more than two hours.

"I don't know when I'll be back. I got a message from Ra's al Ghul that I need to meet with him immediately." _That_ sounded more dangerous. He watched Edward for a response.

Edward seemed worried. Perfect. "Ra's al Ghul? About what?"

"I don't know. He didn't say."

"He called you _himself_?"

That sounded like it was worse. "Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me? I have to go with you!" Jonathan suppressed a smile as he watched Edward's anxiety rise. Such a simple lie was all it took.

In retrospect, Jonathan could hardly believe that he hadn't tried this relationship thing before. He'd always known that fear was the basis for all relationships. People formed pair bonds because they were afraid of living, and dying, alone. But what he _hadn't_ realized, until he was in one, was how literally _every_ aspect of a relationship was fraught with fear and anxiety. Fear that the other person would leave, or get hurt, or die. Fear that one wouldn't be good enough, or that they would disappoint their partner, etc. The amount of power that one gave to their partner was almost mind-boggling.

Then again, if he'd done it sooner, he might not have found Edward. And with Edward it was all intensified, as relationship anxieties matched up perfectly with his preexisting fears about being ignored, forgotten and inadequate. It gave Jonathan's daily life a sweet satisfaction that he'd never thought possible before.

Edward was still talking. "First, I'll have to hack into his network to see if he's got anything planned. His firewalls and lock-outs are pretty solid, but nothing I can't handle. It shouldn't take me more than half an hour."

"He was very clear that I have to go alone."

Edward looked at him. "Then I'll just follow you. You're not going alone." He looked deadly serious, but he couldn't hide the fear that was motivating his actions.

"That will just make it more dangerous for both of us. You know how Ra's is." Yes, self-sacrifice. That would make Edward feel more attached to him, and by extension, make him more afraid.

"...Yes, I do. That's why I'm telling you, you can't go. Honestly, we may need to leave." Edward's voice was deadly serious, but he looked almost terrified. That had been more than Jonathan had been expecting. How fascinating.

Did Edward have some sort of history with Ra's that Jonathan didn't know about? Did Ra's have a reason to be upset with him? Now, why hadn't Jonathan heard about that before? He'd only meant to string Edward along for a little while before, but he was now distracted by the fact that he seemed abnormally afraid of Ra's.

"Ra's isn't the sort of person you can run from. If he wants me for something, I probably don't have much of a choice." Oh, it sounded so perfectly rational. So believable. But Jonathan knew the calmness of his voice would only make Edward more upset. It made it Jonathan seem downright indifferent about his own death.

Edward grabbed him by the shoulders. "Jon! You can't go!" His voice was demanding, but it was beginning to shake. "_I_ love you! And you're not going to get yourself killed!" Jonathan couldn't help but take note of the fact that Edward was probably the only person on the planet who could say "I love you" with an emphasis on the "I" and still truly mean the rest of it.

Jonathan looked at Edward intently, taking in all of his fear. The fear that Jonathan's wouldn't come back. The fear that he would never talk, kiss, or make love to him again. The fear that he might be badly injured or damaged in someway, and never be the same. And, above all, the fear that he would lose Jonathan's attentions forever. A million interactions, activities and experiences they would never share if he died now, and Edward's incredible mind was able to churn them all up and display them on his beautifully expressive face.

Yes, Edward was dramatic. But fear _was _drama. And Edward's fears were genuine. Intellectually, he knew that Jonathan wouldn't let himself get killed, no matter how dangerous the situation, but he couldn't control his emotions when Jonathan expressed nonchalance about his own safety.

Perhaps "couldn't" wasn't correct. Edward simply _didn't_ control his emotions, ever. He was perfect, after all, if he was feeling something, it was obviously the right thing to feel. And while that meant that Jonathan was always subjected to his high-energy explanations of theories, puzzles or technology, it also meant that he never hid his fears away. To be fair, no one could _really _control their own fears. Edward was just smart enough to realize it, and to hand that control over to Jonathan.

And that control was utterly intoxicating to him. How with just a few words, and a soft stroke of Edward's check, Jonathan could bring him to tears. "You know I don't have a choice."

"Jon! Please... This isn't..." Edward clung to him, so afraid to lose him. It was absolutely wonderful to watch. "Just promise me you'll come back."

Jonathan reached up to stroke his hair, wrapping an arm around his waist, a soft physical reminder of all Edward had to lose. Jonathan looked into his eyes. They were a bit swollen from crying, terrified, and begging Jonathan for a promise of safety. Jonathan felt his knees go a bit weak, not only from the sight, but from the knowledge that he could do still more.

"Edward," he reached up to wipe away the tears, and Edward leaned into his touch, daring to hope. Jonathan inhaled sharply, hope and fear always came together, because they both represented possibilities of the future, which were much more powerful to the mind than the events of the past. He gave him a small smile, knowing that the higher he built his hopes, the further he would fall; and that Jonathan's next words would reduce him to near brokenness. "There's no way to know the future. You know I can't promise you that."

He watched carefully as the hope drained from Edward's face; leaving only fear. It was clear that the unsurpassed predictive powers of his mind were showing him in perfect detail what his life would become if Jonathan didn't return, and the idea was so terrifying that he could no longer truly function. Silent tears began to roll down his cheeks.

Perfect silence. That was how Jonathan knew Edward had reached the peak of fear. Most people were loud, screaming or shrieking for help when they were frightened, but not Edward. As long as he found cause to be loud, to draw attention to himself, it was a sign he still had hope. Silence meant he had given up on drawing attention to himself, which for Edward was nothing short of utter hopelessness.

Unable to simply look at him any longer, Jonathan leaned down and kissed him, passionately and intensely. He could taste the fear that was so pervasive that it was causing Edward's body to shake. Edward clung to him more tightly as Jonathan searched every crevice of his mouth, greedily devouring his fears. Jonathan pulled back, breathless, and his vision a bit blurry.

It was one thing to be able to bring Edward to the height of terror without the use of chemicals, but that was not the full extent of his ability. Jonathan could do more than inflict fear on Edward, he could also take it away. At first, he hadn't even thought to do that; eventually, however, it had occurred to him that if his control was _really_ complete, he could banish Edward's fears as easily as he could call them up. Then, the idea had fascinated him. Fear was the most primal, most basic feeling that existed. For him to be able to remove it completely from someone was equally as enticing as being able to create it.

Yes, back when he had been a psychiatrist, he had been able to help people _control_ their fears, but never actually get _rid_ of them. They had always been there, lurking under the surface. That had always been the problem with his patients, they had never been willing to relinquish their fears to him. If they had, he could have helped them.

Edward, brilliant as he was, had understood. He'd given Jonathan complete control and now Jonathan could dispel his greatest fears with only a gentle kiss on the forehead and a promise.

"Edward," he whispered, this time his voice more delicate. He placed his hands on either side of Edward's face and looked into his eyes, watching as Edward emerged from the prison his own mind had built for him. "I'll be back, I promise. Don't be afraid."

Jonathan was sure, that by bringing him back to his normal mental state, Edward would realize he had lied about Ra's, probably as soon as he left. Edward might be angry with him, he _might_ speak to him using only riddles for days. But it had been worth it. And he knew, that Edward wouldn't _really _be upset. He never looked at Edward so obsessively as when he was afraid, and obsession was what Edward wanted.

He couldn't have left him like that, anyway. There was no point in Edward being frightened if Jonathan wasn't there to watch him. In fact, perhaps due to the intimate nature of their relationship, Jonathan now found the idea of anyone else seeing Edward that way to be a violation of some sort. Edward's fears were _his,_ no one else's, so he could never leave Edward while he was still frightened.

In an instant, all of the fear that Jonathan had brought out of him disappeared, as Jonathan knew it would. It wasn't hidden, or buried, it was actually gone. And when Edward kissed him, there was no hesitation or anxiety, just faith in Jonathan's words and the usual affection that Edward held only for him. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Of course he did: when he was with Edward, he was a god.

**Edward's POV**

"What is it that, once you reach, you no longer have?" Edward asked, as Jon picked up his mask and headed for the door.

"You want to know where I'm going?"

Edward nodded. "And when you'll be back, would be nice too."

Jon was silent for a moment. "I don't know when I'll be back. I got a message from Ra's al Ghul that I need to meet with him immediately."

What? Ra's? But they hadn't done any business with Ra's. In fact, Edward had avoided Ra's like the plague after the Lazarus Pit incident. "Ra's al Ghul? About what?"

"I don't know. He didn't say."

"He called you _himself_?" That was _not_ a good sign. Not at all. Could he have possibly found out?

"Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me? I have to go with you!" Maybe he just wanted Jon for something else, like his Fear Gas, but that seemed unlikely. And why would he call him so suddenly like this? Ra's was doing this so Edward wouldn't have time to put safeguards in place. He was going to have to come up with a plan. Ra's wasn't an idiot, but he also wasn't Edward Nigma. Edward could easily find a way out of whatever trap he had set for them. "First, I'll have to hack into his network to see if he's got anything planned. His firewalls and lock-outs are pretty solid, but nothing I can't handle. It shouldn't take me more than half an hour."

"Edward, he was very clear that I have to go alone."

That wouldn't do. Jon had no idea what was going on, or what he was getting into. "Then I'll just follow you. You're not going alone."

"That will just make it more dangerous for both of us. You know how Ra's is."

"...Yes, I do. That's why I'm telling you, you can't go. Honestly, we may need to leave." He couldn't tell Jon about the Lazarus Pit. There was a chance, that Ra's had discovered that Edward had used the Pit, and was just checking to make sure that he hadn't told Jon about its existence. Jon was a biochemical genius, and giving him information about something like a Lazarus Pit would be unacceptable to Ra's. If Jon knew about it, and Ra's found out, he would _definitely_ kill him. Then again, he could just be calling Jon to his base so he could kill him for revenge. Honestly, the latter option seemed more likely.

"Ra's isn't the sort of person you can run from. If he wants me for something, I probably don't have much of a choice."

How unconcerned Jon seemed when he spoke both infuriated and frightened Edward. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he always so indifferent about danger? Overexposure to his own toxins, maybe? Or was that just the way he was? Edward grabbed him by the shoulders, he had to get Jon to understand that Ra's really might be planning to kill him, without making Jon try to force the information about the Lazarus Pit out of him.

"Jon! You can't go! _I_ love you! And you're not going to get yourself killed!" Well, he couldn't. It wasn't acceptable. Edward had never loved anyone before (with the exception of himself, of course), Jon couldn't just go getting himself killed.

Jon looked down at him, staring at him for a moment, before reaching up to softly stroke his cheek. "You know I don't have a choice."

"Jon! Please... This isn't..." Edward clung to him. Was Jon just playing another one of his stupid games? Part of him just wanted to shout, "Yes, Jon, I'm scared! Out of my fucking mind, actually! Now that you've got what you want can we please focus on the fact that Ra's is trying to kill you because I used his some of his stupid magic water?" But he couldn't do that, because that would necessitate him _telling_ Jon about said stupid magic water, and that wasn't an option.

"...Just promise me you'll come back." He could only hope that Jon would understand how serious he was, and realize that he was in very real danger.

Jon reached up to stroke his hair, wrapping an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. He couldn't do this. He couldn't lose him. "Edward," he reached up to wipe away the tears, and Edward leaned into his touch. Had he really understood? "There's no way to know the future. You know I can't promise you that."

Edward fell completely silent as he looked up at Jon. Damn. What an idiot. There was nothing else Edward could do. Jon's stupid obsession with fear was making him impossible to talk to. Yes, it was that same stupid obsession that was the reason Edward had him to begin with. He knew that. Jon's attention was something that was a result of Jon's obsession with his fears. It was still so frustrating to realize that he couldn't do anything to control it. The same way that Edward couldn't _stop_ leaving clues at crimes, even though he wanted to. There really wouldn't be any getting through to him.

But to think that Jon would just be gone. It was too much. No one else had ever _really_ appreciated him. Jon had been the only one to realize that his magnificent mind was worthy of study. He simply couldn't process the fact that he would never hear Jon tell him how perfect he was, or answer his riddles as if they were part of a normal conversation, ever again.

To think that this was the last time Jon would so intently examine him with his wonderfully piercing eyes. But he knew there was nothing else he could say. He was utterly powerless against Jon's addiction, so he simply stared as Jon looked at him, the way Jon always did when he was afraid, as if he was the most wonderful thing Jon had ever seen. He couldn't stand the idea of never being looked at that way again.

Suddenly, Jon leaned down to kiss him. Edward grabbed him tighter, and leaned in. The way that Jon kissed him when he was afraid was always so thorough and passionate, and he knew that each moment was burned into Jon's mind, where Edward would always dwell, never forgotten.

"Edward," Jon whispered, this time his voice was more delicate. He placed his hands on either side of Edward's face and looked into his eyes, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Edward blinked a few times. Had he actually understood? "I'll be back, I promise. Don't be afraid."

Edward felt relief flood through his body, and he leaned up to kiss Jon again. Everything would be alright. Of course. Jon wasn't an idiot. He had wanted to string Edward along a bit, but he'd never intended to actually put himself in real danger.

In fact, as his mind cleared, Edward realized that something didn't make any sense. Why hadn't Jon asked him more directly about whatever it was between himself and Ra's. Why hadn't he tried to get it out of him? If he really intended to go, he would have done at least that. Of course. Jon wasn't going to see Ra's. He'd just said it to make him afraid. He did that sort of thing all the time.

Jonathan probably hadn't realized how effective it would be, but once he'd seen it, he'd been unable to stop. Edward knew that he should be mad, but he couldn't be. The way that Jon had looked at him, the way that Jon was still looking at him now: so focused and intense. Nothing else in the world could make him feel so important.

It was more than worth whatever emotional torment he had to endure to get it. Besides, Jon being able to control his fears that way was only proof of how well Jon knew and understood him: how extensively he'd studied him. "I love you."

"I love you, too." Of course Jon did: when Edward was with him, he was perfect.

**A/N:** So, I'm really wondering what everyone else thought of this one. I like the contrast of the interior and exterior, but if you don't then let me know because I'm really only interested in posting what other people find interesting, the rest of it I can keep to myself.

**Review Answers: **

**Katherine: **I hope at least you enjoyed this chapter, because it was your review that convinced me to post it (that and the fact that I was already so behind on the chapter updates). Anyway, thanks for the reviews and encouragement! I hope you keep reading.

**Lady Sandglass: **Thank you so much, I'm very flattered. I do think these are some of my best work. That bit with Jonathan almost dropping him is also one of my favorites. I've come to realize that Jonathan is difficult to get empathy out of, but its not impossible. Strangely, I feel like even though most people write him as the "softer" half of the relationship, getting empathy for another person out of Edward is like pulling teeth out of a spoiled child: there's a lot of whining, and at the end he expects some sort of medal. It's not even that he can't or doesn't _care_ about anyone else, it's just hell and a half to get him to even _think _about them. I'm working on writing a scene that actually _shows_ that, I feel like this chapter was just more of Edward's typical selfishness. Anyway, I'm so glad you enjoyed it so far.

**AnnaNMR: **Thank you, I do try. Also thanks for sticking with me since the beginning and being a loyal reviewer! I, like Edward, thrive on attention.

**XXTwistedPrincessXx:** Thank you so much for the detailed review, and the compliments. And I know how you feel, I rarely review artists I like and even more rarely go for stories. I feel like this chapter sort of displays how, while I sometimes enjoy reading colder portrayals of Jonathan because they're funny, I always sort of take issue with them. I think it's because, in the back of my mind, I always think about how manipulative he can be, and think that, even if the emotions are fabricated or faked, or if he has intellectual control over them, displaying one's emotions is the most effective of manipulations, and that he should be doing that. Again, I also enjoy seeing emotionless Jonathan, and I certainly think that in many of the comics/adaptations he is that way, but I really enjoy writing the version of him that has complete _control _of his emotions (and therefore can use them to his advantage), as opposed to just not having any. It has more twisted psychology behind it. I'm also going for a pretty intense god-complex with my Crane, so I feel like control is a theme I want to push. Also, I want to thank you because your review has given me a few ideas about future chapters. I want to involve other rogues, there might be a conversation with Joker in the next chapter. I don't usually like Joker that much, but he was the appropriate choice, mainly because he's also in a rather unusual relationship with a former Arkham psychiatrist. I do intend to show the start of their relationship, but I don't really know when, I've had a few other ideas that are more solidly formed, and so I'm going to get those out first. Anyway, thank you and I hope you keep reading!


	6. Chapter 6: Merger

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Batman. I did own the riddle in the last chapter, but there aren't any in this one, actually. Probably because it's mainly about Crane.

**Author's Note: **Okay, so I got no reviews from my last chapter, which I took as either a sign that I have no readers left because my update took forever, or that no one liked the last chapter. That was why I'd asked for feedback, as I felt that might happen, so this one is more like how the previous chapters were. If I get no response to _this, _I'll post one more chapter, and it will be smut. If I get no response to smut, I will know I've lost all of you (also, I've been working on the smut chapter idea for a while, and I think I finally have it, as a warning, it _will _be really dark).

Anyway, beyond that, you should know that according to Crane's backstory, he _is_ from rural Georgia. I'm also from Georgia (Atlanta). The Pin-Pen Merger that is mentioned here is real, I do it (although I'm being trained out of it). I only _learned _that because I had a similar experience while asking for my roommate's help with a sewing project, and he kept handing me pens when I asked for pins. He pointed it out in a manner not dissimilar to what Edward does here, and I know I considered strangling him. Also, yes, people from Atlanta _don't _have accents, and they strongly look down on people who do, which is why you can go there to get rid of your accent. But people in Atlanta _aren't_ exempt from the Pin-Pen Merger. Also I'm pretty sure Jonathan is at least in the top .1% of intelligence. I expect his IQ is somewhere in the 150-160ish range, maybe higher. That means at least .1%, possibly in higher qualifiers, but that sounded like a category Crane would know he was in.

**Date: January 31**

**Jonathan's POV**

Pens. The Scarecrow was staring at a box full of five thousand ball-point pens. What the hell was this? Some sort of joke? Unlikely, he was dating the Riddler, not the Joker. But then, why had Edward ordered him five thousand pens?

He looked over at the unfortunate individual he had tied to the chair in his lab. Well, _this _was embarrassing. What was he supposed to say? "Sorry, my boyfriend screwed up the order, so I don't have enough pins. I apologize for the inconvenience, you're free to go?" Jonathan supposed he could still use Fear Gas, but this was _supposed _to be a _new _experiment.

Maybe Edward had simply given him the wrong box. These pens were green, maybe they were Edward's. Jonathan looked back over at the whimpering man tied to the chair. He leaned down next to him, and sang an unsettling lullaby before injecting him with an anesthetic. Hopefully, it wouldn't take long to sort this out.

* * *

"Edward! What is this?" Jonathan said as he dropped the box of pens down on top of Edward's desk. Edward looked up at him, obviously annoyed that he'd just dropped a box on top of his keyboard.

Edward sighed and looked at the box. When he answered, his tone was sarcastic. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's the box of pens _you_ told me to order."

"I told you to order pins! I needed five thousand of _these!_" Jonathan took a pin cushion out of his pocket and removed a straight pin. "Why would I need five thousand _writing_ pens to torture someone?"

Edward looked at Jonathan, his eyes narrowing in interest. "Say that word again."

"Pen?"

Edward blinked a few times, realizing something. Edward then reached over and grabbed a straight pin. He held it up, and looked back at Jonathan, with sudden interest. "And what is this?"

"A pin." He pronounced it exactly the same as he had the word "pen" before it. Jonathan understood that the words _sounded _the same, but he had assumed that someone as "brilliant" as Edward would have been able to figure out from context that he wanted straight _pins_ for his voodoo-themed, torture experiment, not writing _pens_.

Jonathan was quickly growing tired of whatever game Edward was playing. He had an experiment to do. There was currently a person tied to a chair in their basement. He would wake up eventually, and it had already been awkward enough as it was.

Edward picked up one of the pens and held it up. "Now this one, again."

Jonathan sighed. "Yes, Edward, they're homonyms." His eyes narrowed. "Is this part of some riddle or puzzle from earlier that I didn't solve? Because this is hardly the time for that."

Edward laughed a bit, and when he spoke, his tone was condescending. It was a tone that Jonathan was unaccustomed to being on the receiving end of. It sounded like the voice Edward used to talk to his employees: the ones he called retarded monkeys. His tone was more joking, and less impatient, than it was when he addressed them, but all of the condescension was still there.

"Jon, those words are _not_ homonyms."

Jonathan felt the anger in his blood rise. He may not have possessed Edward's raw intellectual ability, but he was still in the top .1%. And for insinuating otherwise, Edward had about ten more words before Jonathan went straight for his arrogant, snappable, little neck. Maybe less, if he continued to use that tone.

"Edward..." His voice was dark and threatening.

Edward, however, seemed to be in the middle of piecing something together, making him incapable of even paying the _minimal_ attention to others that he could usually manage. "You're not from here! What sort of hick place a—"

Nine and a half words: Jonathan had been close.

Edward gasped for breath as Jonathan's fingers closed around his throat. "You want to know where I'm from? I'll tell you exactly. First, think of the most rural, remote place a weak slave to technology like yourself can possible imagine. Then move another fifty miles away from the closest metropolitan area, then take the uncivilized wasteland you're imagining and transport it to the Deep South, and then, perhaps, you can begin to imagine _half_ of the hell that was the place I lived for the first eighteen years of my life.

"As you can imagine, I was eager to get away. So, when I got into Gotham University, I spent every day of the six months, from when I got my acceptance letter until I left the infernal state of Georgia for New England, carefully destroying the accent I'd grown up with and making _this_ my natural method of speech: so no one would know where I came from.

"If you're wondering what this means for _you_, it's very simple. When I let go of your throat, you're gong to tell me _exactly_ what I'm doing wrong, so that no one _ever_ notices it again. Do you understand?"

The submissiveness with which Edward nodded in agreement with Jonathan's demand, caused his anger to subside, although the bitter remembrances of his past ensured they might return at any moment.

He let go of Edward, who immediately collapsed onto the couch behind him, gasping for air, and whining a bit with each breath. He reached up to rub his throat. "...Damn, Jon."

Jonathan immediately felt a surge of disgust shoot through him. He hated that he'd lost control like that. It wasn't that he'd felt bad about attacking Edward: no one could deny that the man deserved a good strangling. But not for _this._ For Jonathan, though, anything connected with his childhood or adolescence filled him with a pure, murderous rage.

That rage also had the habit of calling to his attention other things that he hated, which he could normally ignore: such as Edward's arrogance and weakness. It was particularly bad in this case, because those traits were just the double-edges of things that _attracted_ him to Edward. His arrogance was the product of his narcissism and need for attention, which was the very thing Jonathan used to control him. And his weakness was the other side of his willingness to submit to Jonathan's control.

His inability to control his emotions regarding his past was a rather gaping flaw in his painstakingly maintained self-control, and Jonathan detested it.

"I shouldn't have done that." It wasn't an apology, and it didn't pretend to be. It was a statement of fact, and of failure.

"No, really?" Edward winced a bit as he spoke. He was silent for a moment, but then seemed (unsurprisingly) to decide that talking was worth the pain he had to endure to do so. "Anyway, what you're doing is called the 'Pin-Pen Merger,' it's an English linguistic irregularity that exists mainly in the southern states, but also in some regions of the midlands and areas settled by people from Texas and Oklahoma. It's technically unrelated to a southern accent, although it coincides with it in many places. You said you lived in Georgia. Did you go to Atlanta on weekends or something? To get rid of your accent, that is? Because most people there would still have that issue."

Jonathan nodded. "Yeah. I assumed everyone would know I was from Georgia, but I knew that if I didn't have an accent I could just tell everyone I was from the city, and that was better."

"Well, you can train that out. It won't be hard. It will probably take a bit of time, but I can compile a list of all the words that it applies to, and make a program for you to use or something." Edward was silent for a moment. "I can't believe you _chose_ to move here. I've never heard of anyone doing that."

"Gotham University gave me a full ride."

"I'm sure they did. You were probably the only out-of-state kid they ever got."

Edward had a point, he probably was. "I don't remember meeting any others."

**Edward's POV**

So, Jon was from some sort of farm country? In _Georgia_? Well, that certainly explained a few things. For example, the fact that Jon thought straw was sufficient bedding for human beings now made perfect sense.

It was just so funny, though, to imagine Dr. Jonathan Crane with some sort of bumpkin accent. Edward knew that southern accents didn't _actually_ make people less intelligent, but it certainly made them _sound _that way. And the idea of Jon's dry, bitter, intellectual sarcasm said in a slow southern drawl was one of the more humorous things Edward had envisioned in a while.

Edward was unable to stop himself from laughing again, although it caught in his (still raw) throat.

Jon's eyes snapped over to him. "What?"

"I-I just can't believe it. Say something with your accent. I don't care what it is. I just want to hear it."

**Jonathan's POV**

Before he even realized what he was doing, he was straddling Edward on the couch, strangling him again. What the hell was _wrong_ with him? Asking Jonathan to pull out a deeply painful (not to mention deeply embarrassing) part of his past just because Edward thought he would find it _funny_?

Personally, Jonathan thought the idea of Edward as an obnoxious, know-it-all small child would be funny, but he didn't ask Edward to find home movies from the time when he'd had a _real_ family, just so he could watch them and laugh. There were lines they didn't cross, and _this_ was one of them.

Jonathan couldn't help but think, as he cut off Edward's air supply completely, that this was hardly _completely_ unexpected. He had always known that he might have to kill Edward eventually_._

**Edward's POV**

Edward squirmed and struggled a bit as he realized that he couldn't breathe at _all _anymore: Jon might actually be serious. What the hell was _wrong _with him? It was just a joke. Perhaps it was a distasteful one, but why was Jon suddenly so touchy? Edward did things like this all the time.

He looked up at Jon, to show that he _was, _in fact, quite terrified of what Jon could and might do to him. What he saw when he looked at Jon, however, surprised him. It was something familiar: a look of pain, bitterness, and humiliation. It was a look that Edward had seen many times before: in his own eyes, whenever he looked in the mirror while thinking about his father.

It suddenly occurred to Edward that Jon had a childhood, and (given how he'd turned out) it had probably been pretty awful. The man had willingly moved to Gotham and then willingly _stayed._ That meant wherever he was from was _worse_ than Gotham City. His accent was just another reminder of a whole collection of things he presumably hated. Which meant that drawing attention to it would only cause Jon to suffer.

Jon didn't deserve to suffer. There were so many people who did. The ignorant, stupid people of the world, and people like Batman, who called them "innocent" and insisted on saving them. But not Jon, who was intelligent, and who appreciated the supreme power of intellect and the mind.

And then, Edward found himself doing something he hadn't done since before his mother died: apologizing. Unfortunately, the fact that Jon's hands were still clinched tightly around his throat meant all that came out were a few choking sounds.

And, in that instant, Edward suddenly felt much more than fear; he felt indignation (always a powerful emotion for him). It was one thing that Jon wanted to kill him, but Jon was going to know Edward felt remorse before it happened. Edward hadn't felt remorse in nearly thirty years and he was _going _to tell someone about it!

He reached up to grab Jon's wrists, but before he could, Jon had already let go of him and was staring at him in disbelief.

**Jonathan's POV**

Jonathan was always impressed by how long it took to strangle a person. That was why he was of the opinion that in a fair justice system (which was something he never wanted to live under, of course) any death caused by manual strangulation would be treated as premeditated. The killer really had a long time to think about it, especially since one had to keep strangling after the victim lost consciousness.

Even Jonathan, who had attacked Edward out of pure, uncontrollable rage, knew that _killing_ Edward at this point would be his decision. One that he was ready to make, though. Yes, he enjoyed Edward's company, and it had been interesting to have a romantic relationship for the first time in his life. But if Edward was going to want to humiliate him, none of that was going to last, anyway.

Suddenly, however, Jonathan saw something that caught his attention. Edward had tried to say something, and although the words had come out as incomprehensible croaking whispers, his lips were quite clear.

"I'm sorry."

Jonathan's mind went blank. That was impossible, wasn't it? The few moments he continued to strangle Edward at that point were just due a delayed reaction. And after he had let go, as Jonathan explained to himself that Edward _couldn't _have been trying to apologize, because Edward's intense narcissism meant he didn't understand how what he had done had been hurtful, and _that _was the real reason that Jonathan needed to stop strangling him; it happened again.

The words were only a little clearer this time: spoken hoarsely through raspy, desperate breaths, but they were an unmistakable, "I'm sorry." Even through the pain, Jonathan could tell that Edward was speaking the words as if they were a foreign language.

Jonathan looked Edward directly in the eyes, which confirmed what Jonathan already knew to be true due to psychological fact: Edward was being entirely sincere. He wasn't saying it it because he was afraid or because he thought it would make Jonathan less angry; he actually felt real, genuine remorse. He realized he had hurt Jonathan, and truly wished he hadn't done so. Not just because he'd been caught, or because he was afraid of the consequences, but because he didn't want Jonathan to suffer.

It wasn't as if there hadn't been consequences, but Edward had already been _experiencing _the consequences. If he'd been trying to make excuses, he would have done so the instant Jonathan had started strangling him, while he could still speak. That hadn't been his reason. Knowing Edward, he had probably wanted to show off what was (for him) a new, exciting feeling. But still, that meant that the remorse itself was real.

It wasn't as if people never apologized to Jonathan. People apologized to him all the time, but only because they were afraid, and they wanted the fear to end. But none of the people who had hurt him had ever apologized because they _actually_ felt remorse over causing him pain. People like Bo, Sheri, and his mother (at least his grandmother had spared him the lie of a false apology).

Edward was the only person who had ever felt _true _remorse over hurting him. The only person who, knowing his actions could hurt Jonathan at the outset, would have done something different. Put simply: Edward was the only person who had ever really cared about him.

Jonathan was unsure if it was the force of that realization, the large expenditure of energy and emotion caused by his attempt to strangle his lover, or a combination of the two, but he felt completely drained. He collapsed, quite suddenly, on top of Edward, immediately wrapping his arms around Edward's small frame. He closed his eyes as he listened to the sound of Edward's (still not quite regular) breathing.

As he reflected upon what had just happened, he realized that what he had just almost done seemed so incredibly stupid. He almost murdered Edward because of his past: he'd almost destroyed the only person who cared about him, because of a bunch of people who _didn't._ There were still plenty of reasons that he might have to kill Edward eventually, but Jonathan's past _wasn't_ one of them.

The _reason_ he'd killed those people (well, the reason other than revenge, of course) was so that they wouldn't be able to hurt him again. And yet, he had almost allowed them to do just that.

Just as Jonathan was beginning to wonder how much longer he could endure thinking about how close he had just come to to being responsible for what would have been the most tragic event in his life (which really was saying something), he felt Edward place a soft kiss on top of his forehead.

It was clear that Edward was as experienced at comforting as he was at apologizing. He played with Jonathan's hair in a way that seemed like it was more to give him something to do, than it was meant to be soothing; and what normally would have been calming, random finger tracings on his back, all took the decided shape of question marks. Still, it was more than enough to enable Jonathan to get his emotions back under his control.

He was grateful that Edward's throat was far too raw for even _him_ to want to speak, because Jonathan knew that if Edward asked right now, Jonathan would tell him everything: Sheri, Bo, Icabod Crane, the pumpkin, his grandmother, the crows, all of it. And Jonathan wasn't sure he was ready for Edward to _know _all of that, yet. There was one thing, though, that he _needed _Edward to know right now.

"I'm sorry, too."

**A/N: **Okay, that's it. I hope that you liked it. Please let me know, because I am considering possibly switching over to a longer, more continuous-story project for Batfic. Either a sort of background during _Arkham Asylum/City _type thing, or a _Hush_ sequel.

Also, yeah, they did just leave that guy in the basement/lab thing. He'll be okay. At least until Jon gets back, then probably not so much.


	7. Chapter 7: Cheater

**Disclaimer: **I don't own _Batman_. Also, holy shit, this chapter is really long and there _aren't_ any riddles.

**Author's Note: **First of all, sorry this took so long, but this chapter itself is the longest one so far, and smut is usually slower writing for me, also I had a midterm and a final paper between the last chapter and this one. Also, I didn't mean to alarm anyone with the last chapter, I was actually not threatening to stop writing the _pairing_ in general, just wondering if another project would be a better use of my time. The main reason is something I feel I should explain about my writing process.

Writing and _posting_ are very different processes for me. I have an endless supply of ideas for almost all fandoms I write in. I have the time to _write _about 40% of those ideas. Everything I write, I hand write first (I wish I didn't have to, but my quality _always _suffers in the prose department when I don't). If I want to post it, first I have to take the handwritten pages and type them, and then I have to send those typed pages to one of my Beta-readers, and for Batfic, both of those are close friends with full-time jobs, who I don't want to overburden. Then, and only then, will I post it. I'm not asking anyone what I should _write_, I'm asking them what I should _post. _

Of Batfic alone I have something like 60+ pages of stuff that I haven't typed. For every page you see, assume there are two that are hand-written in a notebook. I don't have a lot of control over the amount of time I spend doing handwriting, it's really just an urge that seizes me sometimes. I _do _have control over how much time I spend getting stories ready for posting. And if no one is interested, I would rather spend my time working on some of my sewing projects or another writing project. Seeing as only about 10% of my work ends up online, I want to make sure its a 10% that someone will read, or all the work that I did after the point where I hand-wrote it for my own pleasure (including the friends I imposed upon for Betaing) feels like a waste.

So, that's the main reason I really like feedback. I don't have a lot of spare time, and I have a lot of things I want to get done (video games I want to play, costumes and clothes I want to make, shows I want to watch, etc.), so I won't _post_ something that no one is going to care about. I don't really think that's the point of publishing. Also I like your feedback. It means a lot to me. I'm currently considering going to grad school for history, and in history, my profession would be about writing papers and having them reviewed by my peers. Just as I would get Peer Reviews from other experts for an article I wrote for a historical journal, that would help me refine my argument, that is what I want from reviews here.

To me, the other members of the fandom _are _my fellow experts. They spend their time internalizing these characters and universes, so their opinions have real meaning. It helps me understand what people want/think is good/relevant about my work, so I know what direction to go. I enjoy the _dialogue_ that can uniquely exist between writers and readers in fandom. That's why I always try to answer my reviews in longer fics, because I really care about that interaction. So, thank you to everyone who's been reviewing, it really does mean a lot to me.

Moving onto the chapter at hand, you may notice that this is some rather... involved smut. I did a lot of research. Because it's Riddler and Scarecrow and _everything_ requires research. All the research did was make me curse the fact that I'm currently single, because I've learned a whole bag of fun tricks, and reread basically all of the _Kama Sutra_.

My descriptions of the positions tend to come from there or other sources that I thought described them in ways that were more intuitive, but the problem is that complicated sexual positions are still complicated. I'd love to give you links, but I _can't _because this website thinks that all links are advertisement and not writing aids, so I'll just tell you what they are, if you'd like to look them up to get the idea. The ones used here are "Reverse Cowgirl" (or Reverse _Asian_ Cowgirl, the knees are bent, ironically, despite the name, one of the pictures depicting it on Wikipedia seems to be two Greek men, then again, it's Greek, maybe one of those is supposed to be a "woman"), and then the second one is basically "Prison Guard," but kneeling, (which I haven't _seen_, but should be possible, if the giving partner has sufficient strength to hold up the receiver by the arms). Also, I have to wonder why we didn't just keep the Indian names for the sex positions from the _Kama Sutra_, they were _much_ more dignified.

I apologize if any points of it seem slow or technical. _Some _of these characters tend to be wordy and technical. And by that I mean Crane is wordy and technical, and Nigma is actually the _concepts_ of wordiness and technicality given human form. I attempted to make things _less _wordy and technical than I felt the voices (especially Nigma's) called for. My beta still found a few things that she thought were a bit technical that I again cut out, so what's here is what I think was unavoidable.

Finally, I've realized that we have a problem with my vague chronological system once we get past the point at which _Arkham Asylum _takes place,which happens to be when this is set. From now on, any date with a (+1) after it, just means that it takes place after the end of _Asylum_. That was the only way I could figure to do it, as the games don't have years (which I like, because they seem timeless, but can make things a bit confusing).

**Warning: **_**If you have issues with needles, do not read this chapter!**_ I really like Scarecrow's needle-hand gauntlet thing, (in fact, I planning on going to a Con in September as Scarecrow, and am currently working on _making_ one from vintage glass syringes), so it's in here, a lot.

**Date: June 7****th**** (+1)**

**Edward's POV**

Edward gave a loud, annoyed sigh as he heard the door to his tech lab open. Why was Jon always out _so_ late? And it wasn't like he ever called. Did he even _care_? Yes, Edward _knew_ he _technically _cared, but he could show it more often. What was Edward supposed to do? Be patient? That was hardly reasonable. Edward was a planner, he liked to plan things in meticulous detail. Everything from his elaborate schemes to defeat the Dark Knight to his clothing, hair and accessories: all of it had to be perfectly arranged.

It wasn't his fault that he couldn't live the same reckless lifestyle that Jon was so accustomed to. The man wore _burlap_, for crying out loud. Not everyone could do that. How was Edward supposed to plan for his day if he didn't know if or when Jon would be home? There were a variety of things that he could do if he had Jon around that he simply couldn't do on his own. Jon could kidnap people without Edward having to rely on semi-sentient thugs, which meant he could test out new death traps. Working together, Edward could hack through even the most difficult of security systems, and then, Jon, with his athletic skills, could steal almost anything quickly enough not to be caught. And there was always sex, of course (he _could _do that alone, but that no longer held the same appeal it once had).

It was just _inconvenient _for Jon to be so unpredictable. And using the communication device that he had given Jon to ask him when he was coming home either got no response or an irritated "when I'm done working, Edward." What was Jon _doing_ that was so important? If he wanted to scare people, Edward had built him a lab for _that._ But clearly, for Jon, there was something enjoyable about running around in the dark wearing a mask and a costume. To be fair, that seemed to be a common hobby in Gotham City. But it wasn't one he and Jon really shared. Edward would go out for job if he had to, but he preferred to sit behind his computer, wear real clothing, and have other people do the work (that's what his monkeys were for).

"Nice for you to show up. Did you have fun spending your evening ripping apart the disappointingly small minds of Gotham's denizens? Did you learn anything groundbreaking about the nature of fear from them? No? How shocking."

What Edward was expecting was either a bored or sarcastic explanation of Jon's actions, or, perhaps irritation over Edward questioning what he did with his time. Edward knew he walked a fine line in that regard. Edward already paid for everything, and that could combine poorly with putting too many constraints or demands on Jon's time: Jon wouldn't take well to being a kept man. He didn't really _care_ where Jon was most of the time. All Edward wanted was to be able to meticulously plan every moment of his life as far in advance as possible? And if Jon wanted to be _part _of his life, he was going to have to be _part_ of that meticulous plan. It really wasn't _so _much to ask.

Instead of _any_ explanation, however, Edward instead got a nursery rhyme. "Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater; had a wife and couldn't keep her..."

Edward gave yet another loud, irritated sigh. He really wasn't in the mood. He didn't know _why _Jon was suddenly adopting his "Scarecrow" persona when he wasn't experimenting on someone. Outside of actual villainous acts, it was just annoying, albeit in a creepy, unsettling way. Edward did have to admit it was rather uncanny that he'd picked a rhyme that embodied all the tensions in their relationship that Edward had just been thinking about, but the man was a brilliant psychologist with a penchant for the uncanny: it only made sense.

"Not now, Jon. I'm busy."

"He put her in a pumpkin shell..." Edward suddenly felt himself pulled forcefully up and out of his chair by the back of his shirt collar, knocking his chair over and causing his hat to fall off his head and onto the ground. He felt the coarse texture of burlap pressed against his neck, assuring him that it _was_ Jon who had just grabbed him. He had one hand on Edward's chest, holding him tightly against Jon's body, and had the needles on his right hand held under Edward's chin, preventing him from moving. "And there he kept her very well."

Yes, Edward understood. Jon was in control, not him. His obsessive need for planning didn't mean he could act like he could tell Jon what to do. Edward could make suggestions, he could annoy and aggravate Jon until he got what he wanted, but he _couldn't_ act like it was his place to order him around. Anything Jon did for him, he did out of some sort of deity-like benevolence. That was their game, and Edward was getting close to breaking the rules: that was unacceptable.

Edward squirmed a bit, the whole position was a bit uncomfortable. He knew what he had to do for Jon to let him out of it, though, "Of course, Jon. You're right."

But instead of releasing him, Jon only laughed. "There is no 'Jon,' only Scarecrow."

Edward felt an involuntary shiver run through his body. The "Scarecrow" voice really didn't sound anything like Jon's normal voice at all. Edward had read all the files, and gotten Jon's explanation of what was going on, though. It was Jon's method for getting put back in Arkham instead of ever being sent to Blackgate, despite the fact that nearly every psychologist who evaluated him was convinced that Dr. Jonathan Crane was perfectly sane: he convinced them he was suffering from Dissociative Identity Diorder.

He told a story about childhood abuse, and let it drop that he had created a sort of imaginary defender with the persona and appearance of a Scarecrow, and that was why he'd chosen to make the mask in the first place. He never _claimed_ that Dr. Jonathan Crane had _no_ responsibility for his crimes, simply that he couldn't quite remember _all _of the things he was alleged to have done. For him to claim responsibility for some crimes, made it seem like he had nothing to gain from denying others that there was clear evidence that he had committed.

He would then pretend to "break" at some point while being held in temporary custody. He'd start singing nursery rhymes, talking in the creepy voice, the whole deal. He knew what doctors would be looking for to see if he was faking it, and could therefore avoid making those mistakes. It was a lot like the abuse stories that Edward told his doctors about his father, only it was more complex. But it wasn't real.

It was just a role that Jon liked to play, but it was still _Jon_ under that mask. He'd never done anything like this with Edward before, but presumably that was normal for people in relationships. People were _supposed_ to wait a while before they tried weird shit like roleplay, right?

If he wanted Edward to be afraid, Edward could play that game. It would hardly be the first time, after all. "W-What do you want?"

Edward sounded afraid, but physically, he felt himself relax a bit into Jon's grip, now that he knew he just wanted to play some sort of game, and wasn't _actually_ angry with him. Almost immediately, he heard Jon make a noise of disgust and felt his feet swept out from under him, as he was pushed forward onto the floor. His glasses fell off and slide across the floor, just out of his immediate reach. They were, however, not his primary concern. What Jon had just done had hurt: a lot.

It wasn't the acceptable amount of pain Edward was willing to endure when Jon did things like grip him too tightly. It was alright when the pain was clearly a result of Jon's obsessive attentions, that was actually enjoyable, in its own way. But this was different. Edward was alright with roleplay, but there were _limits_. Jon had never _really _hurt him before, except for when he'd lost control, and that had only happened once. Perhaps he'd just gotten carried away?

Edward had cried out when he'd hit the floor, but before he could voice a coherent protest, he felt the weight of Jon's body on top of him, straddling his lower back, as he grabbed Edward's hair with his right hand, causing the needles extending from his fingers to hang over Edward's forehead, putting them right in his line of sight.

Edward was beginning to regret making that thing for Jon. Oh sure, Jon had made a good case for it at the time: he needed a way to get fear toxin to people without using obvious chemical weaponry, especially if he wanted to select a single target (or if Batman ever wised up and bought a gas mask). And given the fact that Edward's own mindless henchmen would be working with Jon on occasion (and they were incompetent enough without hallucinogenic, fear-inducing compounds in their bloodstreams) Edward had made him a gauntlet that allowed him to look as if he had needles extending from his fingers.

At the time, it had seemed so wonderfully fitting with Jon's eccentric motif that blended the horrifying elements of scarecrows, the boogeyman and mad scientists. All of the equipment was vintage too, it came from the early twentieth century, a time when the medical profession was young, inexperienced and decidedly dangerous. It meshed perfectly with the rest of his costume, despite the fact that it was exquisitely crafted, and the rest of his outfit was made from burlap held together with twine.

At least now Edward knew it really _was_ terrifying, but somehow the assurance he felt over being right wasn't as comforting as it usually was. That probably had something to do with the incredibly sharp needles that were hanging directly in front of his face. He watched as a drop of the bright orange toxin hung off the tip of one of the needles, shivering for a moment, until it fell to the ground, pushed there by Edward's own shuddering breath.

Edward then felt himself being pulled back by his hair, a movement that might have been painful, if not for the fact that his only athletic talent was incredible flexibility. Jon then reached around to rip off his tie, and unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, before pulling on it so hard that he ripped through the rest of them. He then pushed Edward's face back to the ground.

As Jon pulled off his jacket and then his shirt, Edward realized that he had never felt anything quite like this before. Jon was harsh, demanding, and constantly requiring Edward's submission, but he was never _demeaning. _No matter what Jon did to him, Edward _knew_ that Jon was obsessed about him, that Jon _valued_ with him. Edward knew that he should have completely hated what was happening right now, and certainly part of him did. But it also resonated with something buried deep inside him. He felt degraded, which was the opposite of what he wanted, but somehow, it felt _right._

The self-doubt he normally ignored, pushed away, and overwhelmed with his pride over his own intellect and inventions, was slowly creeping to the surface. Maybe he _deserved_ to be treated this way. He blinked a few times. That was ridiculous. Jon loved him and appreciated him. This was just some sort of game to make Edward afraid. Just like when he would threaten to leave or do something dangerous. Jon just wanted fear and control.

But what if it wasn't just a game? What if _this_ was how Jon really felt and everything else had been a lie? Jon certainly got a lot out of playing to Edward's ego. But what if he secretly didn't believe in Edward's abilities, or appreciate his intellect? What if Jon was just using him? Jon was a brilliant psychologist and actor. How could Edward know if he was being lied to?

Edward tried to get a grip on himself and be reasonable. This was just Jon's latest fear tactic. That was all. Well, it certainly had been successful, Edward had to give him that. But Jon wouldn't have bothered to get so close to him, if he really thought it was worthless. Then again, even the other rogues weren't lining up to work with Jon.

Maybe Jon wanted a partner, and realized that he could get a lot out of Edward, while giving him only emotional assurances. Perhaps the sex was only an extension of that, Jon was almost asexual by his base nature. Or maybe, that was just another lie, and Jon (like most men) wasn't going to refuse an attractive and submissive sexual partner, when presented with the option. Maybe that was all he was to Jon: a resource. That's the most he'd ever been to anyone else, after all.

Once both Edward's jacket and shirt were gone, Jon wrenched Edward's arms above his head, tying them together with a rough piece of rope that scratched at his skin. Edward felt tears in his eyes both from the pain and his rising self-hatred. It wasn't real. None of this was real. It was just a roleplay!

...Which meant that there was a safeword. Jon hadn't told him what it _was_, of course, but that was their way. It was a puzzle he had left for Edward to figure out. Calling him by his real name hadn't worked. "God" was probably also not an option, as the point of a safeword was that it was supposed to be a word that didn't _normally_ come up during sex.

It _would_, however, be something that acknowledged Jon's authority, even _Edward _understood enough psychology to know that. Of course, in that case, it was obvious. "Doctor... Dr. Crane... please... that hurts."

In response, however, all Edward heard was laughter. Jon wasn't really someone who _laughed_. The most he usually did was give a sort of smug chuckle or chortle. But real, uncontrolled laughter wasn't really his thing. Even in the rare moments when he experienced something that was close to normal, human happiness, the most he was capable of was a brief smile. But this. This sound though; well, it was about as far from normal human _anything_ as it got. The laughter echoed off the stone and metal walls of the tech-lab, which only made things worse.

Edward was pulled back again by his hair, and felt the burlap of the Scarecrow mask rub against his now bare shoulder as he heard an unsettlingly soft (especially in contrast to the loudness of the laughter), "I already told you, Dr. Crane isn't in right now."

As his head was pushed back to the ground, Edward attempted to figure out if he could have been wrong. No. There were no other options. That meant there was no safeword. No, that couldn't be right. This whole thing was about control. _Jon_ was about control. Not just controlling Edward, but controlling himself as well. He wouldn't do something like this without some sort of safeword. But that meant...

When you've eliminated the impossible, whatever is left, however unlikely, must be the truth. Words Edward Nigma had lived by his entire life. And what logical deduction was telling him right now, was certainly unlikely, but _not_ impossible. The fact that Jon _pretended_ to have Dissociative Identity Disorder in order to stay out of prison did not logically preclude the possibility of him _actually_ having it. Those two facts were not related by any sort of logical cause and effect, after all.

Jon could really _believe _it was all a lie and still be occasionally turning into the Scarecrow. If could even be a result of the fact that Jon had developed such a detailed personality distinct from his own that his mind had grown used to imitating. But if that was true, then this _wasn't_ Jon. "Y-You're... Scarecrow?"

Scarecrow laughed a bit. "Did you really think that 'Jon' would do something like _this_?" Jon never referred to himself as "Jon," only Edward called him that. It made the voice coming from his body seem even more alien. He leaned back down and hissed into Edward's ear. "Moron."

_This_ was a problem. This brought up a whole host of ethical relationship conduct-type questions that a morally challenged person like Edward wasn't really capable of answering. From what Edward had internalized about the concepts of right and wrong though, he was pretty sure that this was decidedly on the "wrong" side of the fence.

"Y-You can't—!" Edward tried to use his elbows to push himself up, but the a hand firmly on his upper back made that impossible.

Edward felt the needles slowly tracing over the skin of his back, it scared him now. Not in the way that it had before, but in a very real way. Scarecrow might really _use_ that stuff on him, without any prior warning or care for his consent. Edward was already basically unable to fight back as it was. It occurred to him, however, how very much worse things _could _be. Perhaps resistance wasn't a plan. Presumably, Scarecrow still had Jon's god-complex, at least from what Edward knew of the constructed persona, he did. Fighting back, in that case, would only make things worse.

He whimpered a bit, from a very real fear, and from helplessness. He heard another laugh, much shorter and quieter though, as the needles traced another line on his back. "I didn't think you were afraid of _this._ You let Jon use it on you, didn't you?"

"Wasn't that how you seduced him?"

Edward ceased to make any sound and squirmed a bit. That was partially true. Or maybe totally true. He _had_ let Jon use the fear toxin on him. He'd known Jon was curious as to what he would see under it, overpoweringly so. He'd known that _willingly_ submitting to Jon's experiments, something no one else had ever done, would set Edward apart from the rest of humanity to him. And Edward had wanted that exceptionalism _so _badly. He _did_ stand above the rest of humanity, it wasn't so wrong for him to want to be treated like it?

But it had been more than that. Jon wasn't really a sexual person by nature. Some of his doctors at Arkham had even gone so far as to label him as "asexual," most of them theorizing that his asexuality stemmed from social components of his anxiety disorders, but that even if he'd been socially normal, he probably would only show a minimal interest in sex.

Given that Jon had been the only _other_ person Edward had ever felt attraction towards (and he was _very _attracted to Jon), he had been unwilling to accept "a minimal interest in sex" as an option. Any activity could be made appealing to any person, given the right context and motivations, Edward had reasoned. Jon didn't like giving into emotion, but he liked _controlling_ it. All he'd had to do was find a way to make sex an exercise in _control_ for Jon. And he had.

"You knew _letting _him use that on you would make him co-dependent. That's why you did it."

It was true. As soon as the toxin had worn off, Edward told him everything that he'd seen. Jon had listened, breathless and completely focused on Edward. It hadn't been hard then, Edward had made it clear, subtly, that there was only one more thing they could do that would make him completely belong to Jon. That hadn't been a hard sell. While naturally Jon might have had a "minimal" interest in sex, he had a rather maximal interest in Edward displaying his willing submission: and Edward used that to his utmost advantage.

"That really _was_ rather clever of you. He doesn't know how manipulative you can be, does he? Then again, you would have had to do _something _to get him to play all those stupid little games of yours. You know you're not worth all the effort you make him put in."

"That's how it works. He loves me!"

"You don't deserve it." The words weren't even emotional. Scarecrow was just making a simple observation. How coldly honest it sounded caused Edward to lose his recently regained ability to speak. There was none of the obsessive passion with which Jon studied him was present in Scarecrow's voice. In fact, he sounded almost bored as he ran the needles across Edward's back once more. "Your skin is so perfect."

Edward felt the nails from Scarecrow's other hand begin to dig into his back.

"Stop!" This whole thing was enough of a problem, but what was he going to do if Scarecrow put scratches on him? How would he explain _that_ to Jon? Tell him that Catwoman stopped by and decided to use him as a scratching post?

"He doesn't put any marks on you because you're so vain, and he doesn't want to hear you complain about it. Anything he does is gone after a few hours." Four of the fingers on his back immediately lifted. "But even _you'll_ be able to come up with an excuse for one, right?"

Edward didn't answer.

"You know this is right. Your body should be as imperfect as the rest of you, after all. Don't you agree?"

Another strong shiver ran through Edward as Scarecrow scratched him. He'd tried to steel himself, but he hadn't been ready for the feeling that flooded his body at the sensation and he gasped. He _did_ deserve mistreatment. He _was _horrible. He was a twisted Social Darwinist who implemented his own personal eugenics program through overly-complicated death-traps.

He killed people in terrible ways, because they were unintelligent: a trait they were _born _with. A trait they didn't have any control over. He really _deserved_ to be hated, hurt, maybe even completely ignored. But he certainly didn't deserve to be loved. But he _was_. And all that person had asked for was Edward's submission, which he was now giving to someone else. What the hell was wrong with him?

Unfortunately, Edward's hatred of his own actions only fueled his desire to be punished, and reaffirmed the fact that he deserved everything that Scarecrow was doing to him right now. The more he thought about it, the more appealing he found the situation he was currently in.

"Well?" Scarecrow yanked a bit on the rope binding Edward's wrists, indicating he wanted an answer.

Edward managed to nod as he cleared the tears that had formed in his eyes when Scarecrow had scratched him.

"I didn't catch that."

"Yes..."

Suddenly, Scarecrow's weight disappeared from his back, and Edward was being pulled up by the rope attached to his wrists. Stumblingly, he got to his knees, and then his feet. He was grabbed from behind again, Scarecrow tapping Edward's chest in an almost bored manner, causing each needle to briefly contact his skin. The action (and its constant threat) was almost hypnotic to Edward, and was unable to look away. Scarecrow placed his head on Edward's shoulder and his left hand tightly gripped the side of Edward's neck, before he pushed his fingers roughly into Edward's hair.

Suddenly, Edward blinked as he pulled out of his trance. He couldn't _do _this. Scarecrow and Jon _weren't_ the same person, this wasn't right. It wasn't a concept he usually cared about, but with Jon, it was different. Edward began to pull away, but the fingers in his hair gripped it tightly and pulled his head back.

"Stop this! Let go of me!" Edward _was _afraid, but he sounded more indignant than anything else. "I don't want to do this!"

Immediately, he felt the needles on Jon's hand begin to lightly stroke his exposed neck. Each stroke sent a shiver through his body, and his breathing grew ragged. He fell silent, he'd forgotten that Scarecrow had total power in this situation.

A moment later, the hand in his hair released him, but the needles that continued to stroke his throat kept him from moving. Scarecrow's now free hand reached roughly into Edward's pants, and for an instant, he gripped Edward's erection so tightly that it shot a wonderful mix of pain and pleasure through his body. He was too surprised by the sudden action to even try to be quiet and he moaned.

He heard only smug laughter in response. "You seem to want it." Scarecrow's voice suddenly dropped again. "Cheater."

Before Edward could really respond to his accusation, Scarecrow used his foot to put pressure on the back of Edward's knee, forcing him to the ground. "I-I'm not—"

"Shh..." Scarecrow dragged one of the needles over Edward's lips. His other hand then grabbed Edward's hair again, forcing Edward to look up at him. "You always ruin everything by talking."

Scarecrow untied the rope holding up his pants, causing the fabric that had previously been around his waist to fall, folding over the belts that held the pants to his thighs. Without a moments pause, forced his erection into Edward's mouth. Edward squirmed against the hand that was still holding him by the hair, but found himself moaning and sucking on the erection nonetheless.

Scarecrow pushed himself in and out, more fucking Edward's mouth, than receiving oral. It was so different than Jon, who would sit back in a large chair, like some sort of king, smiling smugly as he watched Edward sink to his knees in front of him. And he was always so controlled, barely moving at all and expecting Edward to service him expertly, as he watched and reacted.

And Edward _loved _it: being watched and stared at as he elicited smug moans and occasional gasps of surprise from the lips of the normally controlled, nearly asexual man, hearing Jon tell him how great it felt and how perfect he was. Everything about it was absolutely wonderful.

But Edward also loved _this. _As much as it was inconsistent with how he normally thought about himself, he couldn't deny that there was something enjoyable about his body being used as an object. He also wondered if, perhaps, Jon's affirmation of his usual narcissism had, in turn, provided a boost to his mind's counter-argument against it. Edward hated himself, not as much as he loved himself, but sometimes, those emotions did overwhelm him; and when that happened, Jon's feelings for him seemed almost unreal.

This sort of treatment was a confirmation of all the things that he secretly believed about himself, and for that reason he needed it. He couldn't imagine hearing that sort of thing from Jon, though. Jon loved him, after all. He felt terrible about what he was doing, and the fact that he was enjoying it, but it felt so cathartic.

The pace increased, and Edward sucked harder, closing his eyes as each of Scarecrow's thrusts came harder, faster and deeper than the last. He'd taken Jon deeply inside his mouth before, but this was different: it was wild and thoughtless, and it felt as if neither of them had any control over it.

He came suddenly, with the change in intensity being the only thing that could be considered a warning. He was deep inside Edward's mouth when he came, and Edward gagged as he withdrew, coughing up the warm liquid and spitting it out onto the floor. This was somewhat surprising to Edward, who had been fairly certain that (for a variety of reasons, only some of them sexual), he had no gag reflex left to speak of.

He winced and looked down at the ground, expecting some sort of retaliation. Jon always expected him to swallow. It was never stated _directly_, of course, but Edward was well-aware it was a clear requirement: a sign of his willing subservience. But no retaliation came. Edward glanced up to see that Scarecrow hadn't seemed to have even _noticed._

Edward blinked as he was hit with a sudden realization: this _wasn't _Jon. Edward _could_ resist. With Jon, resistance would never be tolerated: it was total obedience, or nothing. Edward could make his _own _demands, but he could never refuse Jon's.

If Jon tied him up, Edward didn't struggle or use his skills at escapology to try to work his way free. He simply laid there, and let Jon do whatever he wanted. More than one time, Jon had used that opportunity to frighten Edward out of his mind (in addition to teasing him to the point of desperation). He remembered one particular time that Jon had used one of Edward's own death-traps to that end.

And there were times, that Edward felt the desire to fight back, to be indignant, to try to run. And _now_ he could act on that feeling. Besides, if he wasn't submitting _willingly_, then he wasn't betraying Jon, right? Even _he_ knew that was the most egregious of rationalizations, requiring rather unorthodox twists of logic, but what was the point of having a genius intellect if you didn't use it to get what you wanted?

He quickly wiped the remaining liquid from his chin with the back of his arm, then immediately began to work his way free of the bindings on his wrists. Scarecrow once again grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back up to his feet.

Edward looked at him, indignant. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Scarecrow sighed as he looked at him. "How _does _he put up with it? I know you're better for him, but there's nothing than can be done about that voice, I'm sure."

As Edward felt the bonds fall from around his wrists, he quickly reached up and pushed himself out of Scarecrow's reach. "How dare you insult me? You're not even real! You're just a mental construct! The right drugs and you'll cease to exist!" Edward smirked a bit, pointing condescendingly at Scarecrow as he spoke. "_You're_ not the one with the power here, I am! If I want to get rid of you, I can!"

Scarecrow suddenly leapt forward, like some sort of monster from a horror film, tackling Edward to the ground. He laughed again, and it sounded even more inhuman than before. He leaned down over him, and Edward almost felt as if Scarecrow was going to drain some sort of vital, supernatural essence from him.

When Scarecrow spoke again, his voice's alien quality had also increased: at this point, it sounded nearly demonic. "And how do you intend to do that?"

But Edward wasn't going to be intimidated anymore. He was afraid, but that wasn't going to shut him up. "I'll tell Jon!"

"After what _you_ just did?"

"It's my word versus no word. I don't think I have anything to worry about."

Scarecrow laughed again, and leaned down right next to his ear. "Lair."

He reached down to turn Edward over, but Edward squirmed and struggled, eventually sliding out of his grip. With spectre-like grace, Scarecrow leapt over to straddle him again. Scarecrow shook his head. "You won't tell him. We both know that. Because you need this, and you can't ask him to give it to you. You can't suggest to him that you're anything but perfect."

Edward felt all desire to fight leave his body. It was true. He hated himself for it, but it was completely true. Scarecrow reached down, and he heard metal chinking against the buttons of his pants. He squirmed and stifled a groan from the feeling of pressure on his crotch, but soon felt something contact the skin of his erection: a cold, prickling sensation. Edward froze for a moment, then looked down to see the needles inserted through the fabric of his pants.

For a moment, fear shot through Edward's body, and then he realized something, and felt a smirk come over his face, as he relaxed. He didn't have to put up with this. He'd _made _that damn gadget, after all. A system of air pressure and magnets helped keep it tightly fitted to the wearer's fingers, while allowing them to move as normally as possible. But the thing had an release switch: and Edward knew exactly where it was.

Edward reached down and hit the the three buttons on the bracer on Scarecrow's wrist. He watched as the yellow light that caused the liquid inside the tubes and syringes to glow faded and the needles dropped from Scarecrow's fingers. Edward took the opportunity to grab the tubes that extended from the syringes and pull the whole apparatus off of Scarecrow's arm. He then pulled off one of the syringes, before tossing the rest of the gauntlet across the room, and again slipped out of Scarecrow's grip.

Edward turned over, so he was now looking up at him, it was clear Scarecrow was surprised by his actions, and he took the opportunity to kick Scarecrow's knees out from under him. This, of course, resulted in Scarecrow falling on top of him, but _that_ gave Edward a chance to reverse their positions. Edward put the needle up next to Scarecrow's chest. "You're right, because right now, I _feel_ like being anything but perfect."

Strangely enough, there was something incredibly liberating buried deep in Edward's self-loathing. Edward loved being perfect, loved having Jon acknowledge it and praise him for it, but it wasn't _easy_. If it was easy, anyone could do it, and it wouldn't make him better than anyone else. He _had_ to be perfect when he was with Jon: and with Jon he always was. He had to follow the rules of their relationship, and never try to take control. That was the price of perfection. And usually, he was more than willing to pay it, but this encounter didn't come with that price.

If Scarecrow was going to drag out all of Edward's flaws, he was going to have to deal with the consequences of forcing Edward to look directly at his own imperfections. He'd freed Edward to break all of the rules, and Edward was going to try his damnedest to do just that.

**Jonathan's POV**

"You're right, because right now, I _feel_ like being anything but perfect."

Jonathan felt a shiver run through his body. Yes, he'd lied. And yes, he'd convinced a man who clearly already had intense self-image problems that he was having an affair with his lover's alternate personality who he'd previously thought was just a convenient invention used to subvert the law. But look what he'd gotten out of it. And wasn't it bit late for Jonathan Crane to suddenly grow a conscience?

Besides, Edward clearly _needed_ this. He _couldn't _ask Jonathan for anything like this. Their relationship revolved around a very clear system of rules and regulations, and normally it worked beautifully. The problem with that was that neither of them functioned particularly well in _systems._ If they functioned well in systems they wouldn't be _criminals._ They could live within their system most of the time, but occasionally, the pressure would build too great and cracks would appear. What their system needed was a safety valve, and that's exactly what this was.

Edward couldn't follow the rules perfectly all the time, it was too much to ask someone to constantly submit and never fight back. And Jonathan had already learned that he couldn't control himself completely. If they tried to keep this up, they would only end up killing each other. It was hardly the ideal end to put on a relationship's trajectory.

Given the circumstances, it had really taken Jonathan far too long to come up with the solution. After all, the Scarecrow persona worked in _exactly _the same way for Jonathan's normal personality as he was using it here. Jonathan Crane had spent his whole life cultivating a very specific personality. Like everyone, he had things about himself he disliked, but unlike most people, he was well aware he had the power to change them.

Just as he used a mastery of psychology to face his fears, he also used it to control, and eventually completely change, other undesirable aspects of himself. His original accent was a good example of that. Dr. Jonathan Crane was a highly intellectual man, known for being serious, polite and condescending. He had refined hobbies and interests, such as nineteenth century English dance, and supernatural literature of the same time period, which he took to the point of mastery and obsession. He poured all of himself into his research, and would do anything to get the results he wanted, which combined with the rather morbid nature of the research itself, gave the otherwise understated professor a sinister and unsettling undertone.

Even after he'd been labeled a "super-criminal" everyone still regarded him that way. The fact that he was a murderer and rogue always seemed secondary in all of his personal interactions. In fact, not a single doctor had ever even _mentioned_ the killings. They all talked to him about fear and psychology, and occasionally his other interests, like dance or martial arts. After a few minutes of conversation, they gave up on getting him to let anything slip, because they knew it wasn't going to happen unless he wanted it to. None of them thought he was insane, because he was so very controlled.

Right before he'd been in school, a fad of diagnosing Dissociative Identity Disorder had swept through the psychological community, and as a result, many of his professors had done a good deal of research on it. One of his professors had been convinced that the disorder was a result of a person's personality being under too much pressure, either from themselves or others, and the secondary personality (or personalities) were created as a result. Jonathan had been dubious of that idea, given that many individuals with DID had relatively weak and passive "central" identities, but he'd thought creating a false persona that allowed one to let go of their self-control was an idea that had real merit and application. Particularly, for himself.

Because for all of the work that Jonathan had done to turn himself into the exact person he wanted to be, he realized that there were still things he _wanted_. Some of things about himself that he'd discarded, hadn't just been undesirable traits he'd loathed completely (like his accent), some of them had been sacrifices for his ultimate goals. He'd had to give up being whimsical in order to be taken seriously, but that didn't make being whimsical any less _enjoyable_.

And that, was Scarecrow's true purpose. The fact that the persona provided Jonathan with a very believable legal insanity defense was also convenient, but that wasn't why he'd created it. He'd created it to give himself a way an escape from his own self-control. It only made sense that a relationship that was as regulated as Jonathan himself was would need something similar.

Yes, he could have told Edward the truth, but he wasn't sure Edward could deal with it. The _real_ reason people chose to believe that Jonathan had DID, even though his case deviated from the norm in many ways, was because they didn't _want_ to believe that Scarecrow and Jonathan Crane were just different elements of the same person. They were too dissimilar and opposite. Dr. Crane was a mad scientist, but he was still a _scientist_, Scarecrow just seemed to scare people with no end goal. Almost as if he was doing it for fun_._ Dr. Crane didn't do things for _fun. _

There were just too many differences to reconcile, so people chose to accept the easier answer when confronted with the two options. And he knew Edward would do the same. Edward would be unable to accept that there was a part of Jonathan that was more than able to see all of his flaws for exactly what they were, a part of Jonathan that _wanted _to hurt him. It was easier for him to think that Jonathan and Scarecrow were different. He _wanted _to believe they were different, so that's what he would see.

Jonathan laughed again as he looked up at Edward. "This is interesting. What exactly do you think you're going to do? You know you're not getting away."

"I don't typically engage in pointless exercises, particularly those in which I would gain nothing from the result," his voice was condescending. It was the sort of tone that made the mere act of _speaking_ a form of resistance. Edward had never talked to him like this during sex.

"You think I'm going to let _you_ control me?"

"This time, probably not. But I assume this will happen again, and trust me, next time you won't have much of a choice."

It really _was _fun to see him this way. There were times when he'd seen Edward thinking about resisting, an almost scheming look in his eyes as he'd preformed acts of submission. And there was something very enjoyable about watching him realize his forbidden fantasy.

"I'm not sure you've thought this through. You'll be able to use force against me once, but if you try it again... well, let me just remind you, this is my apartment, my equipment, my gadgets, _my _rules. I _give_ Jon control because that's how it should be. But if _you_ want something, you'll have to take it. And now, you don't have the element of surprise. So, good luck."

He'd always known that Edward's submission was willing, and that was what attracted Jonathan so strongly to him, but he'd never realized _exactly_ what that meant. It was true though, when he really thought about it, Edward was the sort of person who could know anything he wanted to know, build anything he wanted to build, who planned everything in exacting detail. If he'd _wanted_ control, he probably could have had it, easily. He _couldn't_ be controlled against his will, not for long.

Jonathan had _earned_ the submission of someone who didn't have to give it to anyone. This was a man who walked in and out of Arkham at his leisure. He never did _anything_ he didn't want to. The total realization of that fact sent a wave of pleasure through his entire body, and Jonathan immediately felt himself beginning to grow hard again.

Jonathan didn't think that he was distracted for more than a moment, but however much time had elapsed, had been enough for Edward to begin to slide two fingers inside him. He supposed that was what he got for not constantly watching him the way he usually did. The syringe was gone too, Jonathan supposed that Edward thought he'd found a new way to keep his attention. To be fair, he was right.

Jonathan let out a brief moan. His fingers were cold, too, and _wet_. How the hell had that happened? Right... slight of hand was another one of Edward's little hobbies, if he'd had something in his pocket, he could have done it without Jonathan noticing.

That wasn't like Edward at all, though. To do something during sex and not want it to be seen. As Jonathan attempted to contemplate that, however, he felt his mind go completely blank as Edward's fingers gripped the bundle of nerves inside him: stroking, pushing, rolling, tapping, a variety of motions that he'd never experienced, easily completing his erection and causing him to throb. He'd never let Edward do anything like this to him, although he was now wondering exactly _why._

Jonathan was under no delusion about which one of them had more sexual prowess. Edward had a great deal of technical skill that Jonathan simply didn't possess. As a psychologist, the technical study of sex had been unavoidable, and the general consensus of the psychological community was that "good sex," as much as it could be defined, came from a combination of technical skill and attention to the needs of one's partner. Edward was really only capable of the former, and Jonathan only of the latter, but since each possessed their respective ability in a rather high degree, it worked out.

Both abilities came from experience, and Edward had about as much experience with paying attention to the needs of others, as Jonathan did with sex. And all of Jonathan's psychologists (including himself) had labeled Jonathan as "asexual." Although Jonathan had spent most of his life alone, his psychological skills gave him the ability to understand perfectly the needs of others.

Similarly, in spite of also spending most of his life alone, Edward had gained a great deal of sexual skill. That was because Edward had been, quite possibly, the world's most sexually experienced virgin. Something that sounded paradoxical, until one remembered that this man had _already_ taken self-love to heights that were incomprehensible to most of humanity.

From what Jonathan knew, the man had turned masturbation (usually an act of desperation) into an art form. And (in typical Edward fashion) he had whole boxes of electronic gadgets and devices that had been purchased (or invented) for that particular activity. And, although Jonathan found the idea slightly sickening, he was fairly certain that Edward's love for himself, and his skills at contortion (gained through his interest in escape artistry) had been combined in disturbingly creative ways.

Jonathan pushed back against Edward's fingers, enjoying the new sensation, although he wasn't sure he would be willing to let Edward do any more than he'd already allowed. At least, not this time. Assuming there was any truth to Edward's threat, though, Jonathan was fairly certain he wouldn't have much of an option next time. Not that he was worried, in fact, he was almost looking forward to it. Still, he was going to have to ease himself into it. This little lie was as much for him as it was for Edward, in the same way that Edward couldn't accept that there was a part of Jonathan that hated him, Jonathan couldn't really accept there was a part of himself that would let Edward take even temporary control. And even behind the mask of Scarecrow, he would need time to adjust to that idea.

Jonathan hissed as Edward pulled his fingers out rather suddenly to use his hand to unbutton and pull down his pants.

"Jon _can_ be rather... narrow-minded about positions," Edward said. "There are some things I've always wanted to try, but he won't really go for anything that's not his idea. And what am I supposed to do, leave pages from the _Kama Sutra_ on the man's desk? You know, I actually _tried_, but I think they got lost under the endless piles of disorganized paperwork."

The sad part was, leaving graphic illustrations of sexual positions on Jonathan's desk _was_ Edward's attempt at subtlety (although to be fair to Edward, his accusations were true, Jonathan _hadn't _actually seen them). Jonathan wondered how much of the disharmony in their relationship was due to Jonathan's relative lack of organization. It was hardly as if he was _always_ that way. It was only when he was on the verge of a breakthrough of some kind. Of course things like organization and tidiness went out the window in that case.

Edward had been annoyed at him over not giving him a schedule for when he would be back as well, but that was partly due to the fact that he spent his evenings playing Scarecrow, who's _purpose_ was to be unpredictable. If he adhered to a fixed schedule, Batman might be able to find and track him. Surely Edward would understand that. To be fair, he could probably tell _Edward_ his plans, but that seemed like an unnecessary hassle.

Jonathan felt a shiver run down his spine as Edward applied the lubricant he'd presumably had in his pocket (he supposed it made sense, as weird as it seemed, there had been a time they'd had sex in strange places, such as on the grounds of the Asylum). He felt Edward's fingers run up the back of his erection. It felt different than it usually did, Edward was almost scratching him, a feeling that was intensely pleasurable (especially as he reached the top), yet threatened to cross the border to pain with the slightest increase in pressure. Jonathan let out a noise that he thought would be like a hiss, but ended up as more of a moan.

"Stop teasing already! I'm getting impatient. Do something soon, or I will!"

"Empty threat. You'll be patient: you know the worse you are now, the worse it will be for you next time. Besides, you're curious."

Edward's arrogance and condescension ran the fine line between attractive and annoying, and Jonathan was beginning to change his mind about which side it fell on. He'd thought that his feelings of irritation had been quelled by his rather rough and forceful actions earlier in their encounter, and had fully intended this be the part where Edward resisted and got over his own issues. But now Jonathan was wondering if he would be able to hold to that. It would still help Edward either way, Jonathan reasoned, and it was hardly his fault that he could only take Edward's patronizing tone for so long.

"For you, this is easy: just lay there and don't move, but keep your knees bent." Edward was so much more verbal than Jonathan ever was about it. If Jonathan wanted Edward in a certain position, he would just _put _him in it.

Jonathan laughed a bit. "So, you want to drive, then?"

"You sound surprisingly alright with that."

It was Jonathan's turn to be condescending. "It's almost cute, in a way."

Edward's eyes narrowed. "Just so you know, you're not any better at jokes than Jon is. In fact, you might be worse. That's rather a sad statement, really. Perhaps it would be best for you to keep your attempts at humor to yourself."

And Edward jumped boldly over the line between defiant and rude. Still, Jonathan was going to give him _one_ more chance (he actually _was_ curious about what he was planning to do).

Edward straddled him, facing away from him, then slowly lowered himself down to take Jonathan inside him. He placed his hands on Jonathan's knees, using them for leverage as he pushed himself up and down. Jonathan inhaled sharply as Edward took him in at varying angles: he hadn't been expecting it to feel so good.

He'd sort of assumed that Edward having all the control over their sexual encounter would just be something he would have to _endure_, but that he wouldn't really _enjoy_. But Jonathan was now finding that he had, once again, underestimated the value of Edward's technical expertise. He felt his fingernails scrape across the stone floor, making an unsettling screeching sound. He moaned as well, both unwilling and unable to keep silent.

Jonathan felt a small smile creep onto his lips, as he watched the thin muscles of Edward's back tense and relax as Edward rode him, the bones of his spine visible underneath the skin. Jonathan reached up and ran a fingernail down his vertebrae, watching goosebumps appear on Edward's tensing skin, as his back arched in response. He felt Edward's fingers grip his knees more tightly, as he cried out.

"See," Even though he could only speak between breaths, Edward's voice was unbearably condescending, "It was worth waiting for. Aren't you glad you didn't do anything stupid?"

That was it. It _did _feel good. In fact it felt incredible. But it wasn't worth listening to Edward go on anymore. Edward was, quite possibly, one of the most irritating people on the planet. And frankly, the most irritating thing about him was his voice. The things he talked _about_ and the _way _he talked certainly didn't help, but really his voice would have been bad enough on its own. Edward Nigma was basically an over-intelligent six year-old in the body of a grown man (which possibly helped to explain why he dressed like an Asian teenager), and his voice conveyed that particular aspect of his personality perfectly.

It was his immaturity and arrogance that made seeing him afraid so lovely to watch (because he could do nothing to hide it). But the same traits that made every sound Jonathan elicited from him when frightened so tantalizing, were also incredibly annoying when he was condescending.

"You really ha—mpht!"

Jonathan reached up and carefully removed the noose he wore around his neck. Then, in one fluid motion, Jonathan sat up and put the rope over Edward's head, tightening it so that it was forced into his mouth, effectively gagging him. Although the act of transitioning itself was pleasurable, Jonathan hissed a bit at the sudden suspension.

Suspension was the sort of thing he would often force Edward to endure during sex (usually when he was tied up), stopping in the middle of their activity, pulling out slowly, and threatening to leave him unsatisfied: only finishing once Edward begged him to. But Jonathan had always been prepared for that, and he'd been in control of it. Technically, he'd been in control of this as well, but he hadn't realized how disruptive it would feel. Now, he knew why Edward was willing to beg, as Jonathan felt overwhelmed by the urge to continue.

Jonathan reached forward and grabbed Edward's arms again, pulling them back behind him and wrapping the the tail of the rope around his wrists. He held the rope in one hand, using the other to push himself forward so they were both up on their knees. Once they were stable, he put his hand on Edward's back, bending him over, all while still holding the rope that bound Edward's wrists behind him. Jonathan moved his free hand to Edward's hip, giving him some leverage as he thrust into him. Edward's muffled moans were somehow exciting to him: if only because they were confirmation of the fact that Jonathan had managed to quiet him.

Jonathan _did_ enjoy Edward's usual willing submission, but there _was _fun in forcing him as well. Especially as the willingness came with conditions: as much as he had often wanted to, Jonathan could never have gagged Edward normally. For all the effort he put into his physical appearance, Edward's entire being was his mind and thoughts: to stop him from speaking was to suggest Jonathan didn't _care_ about those things. Edward's submission came at the price of Jonathan's obsession, implying he didn't care wasn't an option. There was a fine line between implying he might _stop_ caring, and implying he didn't in the first place, and Jonathan knew he couldn't cross it, anymore than Edward could actively resist.

Jonathan tugged a bit on the rope in his hand, with a slight laugh. "I warned you about talking."

They'd never done anything quite like this before, as any position Jonathan put Edward in came with the unspoken requirement that Edward be able to see Jonathan _looking _at him, and Jonathan felt himself going in unexpectedly deep. And, he had to admit, there was an incredible freedom in being able to be _completely_ selfish about the entire thing. The closest he usually came to being completely selfish was when Edward serviced him, but even _that_ required Jonathan's constant positive reinforcement and encouragement. Yes, he'd been selfish earlier, but he'd been unselfish for _so_ long until today: it wasn't wrong. Jonathan closed his eyes and increased his pace, completely letting go as he pushed himself toward his release.

**Edward's POV**

"I warned you about talking."

Edward bit down on the rope that was now stuffed inside his mouth. Edward hadn't been expecting what Scarecrow had just done, but he felt himself pushing back against him, allowing him to go in deeper.

The depth of the penetration wasn't particularly new, but the roughness certainly was. Jon was always so precise, and so intense. Watching Jon's eyes on him was in and of itself a turn on. They were so focused, and when they made love, Edward almost felt he could see a fire behind the usual coldness of his gaze.

Still, it was nice not to feel constantly observed. Observation and evaluation went together, after all, and he only wanted to be evaluated when he felt he would be judged positively. And whether it was guilt over his conduct or the bubbling up of his self-loathing, he didn't _want _to be evaluated at the moment. That was why he'd chosen the position he had at the start. Although, in a way, this was better. He'd get his chance at being in charge eventually, but the gagging (even more than the position he was now in) had been surprisingly erotic.

It was literally one of the _last_ fetishes he'd ever thought he would enjoy, but upon experiencing it, he realized that it was the epitome of all the punishment he felt he deserved. He couldn't think of anything worse than being forcibly silenced, unable to express himself in anyway, not to mention what it would mean for someone to _want _to do that to him. And that was why it felt _so_ right, because he knew, somewhere, that it was exactly how he should be treated.

Edward moaned against the pressure of the rope, as Scarecrow's movements grew faster, harder and less predictable. He realized soon that something he had always taken for granted wasn't happening: his g-spot wasn't being hit with any sort of regularity. In fact, the experience, while arousing, wasn't actively bringing him to climax. It was more odd than it was particularly unpleasant. As all of Edward's experiences were either with Jon (who was too obsessive to make any mistakes of that nature) or himself, he supposed it had never occurred to him that the person on the receiving end might _not_ always enjoy the act. Sure, he knew it was possible, in theory, but never thought he would _personally_ experience it.

Reflexively, he wriggled one of his hands free of the rope around his wrists, and reached down to touch himself. Jon would never allow him to do that sort of thing. Sex was about control for Jon, after all. One time he'd tried, and well, he hadn't tried it again. Edward had learned that if he wanted something during sex, all he had to do was ask for it. Well, actually, he had to _beg_ for it, but Jon _would_ give it to him.

Which meant that, while this was more than he usually had to do to enjoy himself, there was something that felt delightfully rebellious about touching himself during sex. He formed a circle with his thumb and middle finger around the ridge where his head met the shaft, cinched it closed, then twisted it, stroking the tip with his forefinger. He tightened his grip and increased the speed of his motions, as he pressed the tip of his finger into the slit on the underside of his head.

Edward wrapped his tongue around the rope it as he moaned, his legs beginning to shake from the combination of his own techniques and force and rhythm Scarecrow's continued thrusts deep inside him. Unexpectedly, just as Edward began tapping on the underside of the point where his head met the shaft, one of Scarecrow's thrusts hit his g-spot, hard, and he came instantly, spilling onto the floor. He cried out and bit down on the rope as he contracted.

He put his now free hand down to support himself, but his whole body was shaking now, and it slipped from under him, so he was being completely held up by the rope. Scarecrow suddenly grabbed his wrist again, pulling it back behind him so he could easily put more pressure on his back to try to bend him over more to go deeper inside him. Edward felt his eyes water from the feeling of being penetrated after he'd tightened. It didn't last long though, maybe ten or fifteen more seconds before he felt Scarecrow release explosively inside him.

Without even a moments pause to recover, Scarecrow pushed Edward forward onto his stomach on the floor, causing Edward to wince and whimper as the motion caused Scarecrow to roughly pull out of him. Edward squirmed uncomfortably from the strange mix of the heat of his body, the coldness of the stone floor and the moisture of his own release that was now beneath him.

Edward felt a bit sick, perhaps from guilt, perhaps simply from the roughness of the activity. He shuddered a bit as he rolled over on his side and curled up a bit. Suddenly, he felt Scarecrow lean down over him, yanking off the rope. Edward coughed a bit as the rope was removed from his mouth, and he rubbed his palate with his tongue as he adjusted to its absence. Scarecrow didn't say anything else, but slowly ran a finger over the scratch mark he'd left, before he walked out the door, leaving Edward to curl up more tightly as he shivered on the cold stone floor.

**Jonathan's POV**

As soon as the door closed behind him, Jonathan collapsed up against it (making sure to do so silently), as he caught his breath. He'd had to leave like that, it was simply the nature of the encounter, but that didn't mean it hadn't been difficult. He removed his mask, his lungs burning a bit as he breathed in the cold air of the apartment. He pushed his fingers through his hair, which was wet with perspiration. He hated sweating too heavily, as it reminded him of his upbringing in Georgia, yet he couldn't help feeling it was fitting for him to be disgusted with himself both inside and out.

Maybe he really should have tried just _talking_ to Edward, or allowed Edward the freedom to broaden their sex life without his constant oversight. Maybe he'd just created a monster he couldn't control, and was laying the foundation for the eventual ruin of their relationship, even as he attempted to secure its future. What if he couldn't sustain this? What happened when Edward figured out the truth? How would he respond?

Jonathan closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on returning his breathing to normal. This was always the hardest part of any experiment: waiting for results, because there was always a chance, however remote, that one's hypothesis had been incorrect. If Jonathan was wrong, and Edward felt the need to confess everything to him, Jonathan didn't even know how he _could _respond.

He took a deep breath, he supposed if Edward was going to do something as uncharacteristic as telling the truth on sheer principle, though, he had bigger things to worry about than being caught in a single lie. There was nothing to do now except wait, and of course, take a shower.

* * *

Jonathan looked up from the book he was reading in bed as he heard the bathroom door open, over an hour later. "I didn't realize you hadn't showered yet today, or I would have been more careful with the hot water. I assume there was enough. You don't usually shower at night."

"No, I don't."

"But you haven't slept for two days because of that project you were working on, so you weren't going to shower after getting up. Does that mean you're finished?"

Edward planned sleep like he did everything else: as efficiently as humanly possible. He would work on things for days on end (usually between two and five, depending on how much he figured he needed to sleep given how mentally demanding the task was) and then would crash and sleep for between ten and twenty-five hours. It was only for bigger projects, but he was working on those at least two-thirds of the time. Jonathan doubted it was the best plan in the long run, constant sleep deprivation wasn't exactly known for making people _more_ emotionally mature.

Edward was silent for a moment, and Jonathan observed him carefully. He seemed a bit uncertain, maybe guilty even. Jonathan was increasingly beginning to wonder if this had been the right idea. Edward wasn't like him: Edward _felt_ things, very viscerally. He didn't have the advantage of view his own emotions with the perspective of a detached observer as Jonathan often could for himself. That was one of the things that he _liked_ about Edward: how bad he was at hiding how he felt. It made Edward seem genuine, in a world of people who were constantly dishonest about who and what they were.

Edward seemed to be considering something, presumably whether or not to tell Jonathan the truth. If he was going to do it, he would do it now. Once Edward decided something was a secret, he wouldn't go back on that decision. He might leave some sort of evidence for Jonathan to figure it out on his own, but if he didn't come clean now, Jonathan wouldn't have to worry about a confession.

"No, it's not. I didn't get all of the information I needed. As you may have noticed, the people working for me aren't exactly fully-evolved. They got caught before they could put the transmitter in the central room at the Tyger office."

Jonathan felt himself smiling a bit. This was going to work out, after all. Good. Jonathan watched as Edward took off his robe, put his glasses on his bedside table, and got into bed. There was a bit of hesitation in his movement at first, but once he laid down next to Jonathan, he immediately moved closer to him.

Edward let out a small whine and pushed the book out of the way, so he could rest his head under Jonathan's chin, wrapping an arm around him as he did so. Jonathan felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward for a moment. That alone was proof his experiment was successful. This morning he would have found what Edward had just done irritating, but now he found it almost endearing.

"You're so harsh on them." Jonathan rested his head on top of Edward's still damp hair. "I'm sure all they need is the proper motivation. Fear, of course, is the best motivator. I'll go with them tomorrow."

"_You_ won't have any problems. The plan was simple enough for those cretins, after all."

"Oh, but I'll need you take a look at my injector bracer first. One of the syringes came out."

Jonathan felt Edward tense a bit in his grip. "R-Really?"

"You know, it's funny. I don't remember exactly how. I know there was some strain put on it earlier, and when I got out of the shower, I noticed it had fallen out. It must have come out when I took it off. You said something about how even if the mechanical components failed, the pressure system would keep them in place until I took the bracer off."

"Yeah, that's probably what happened. That means it's just some of the simpler hardware. It shouldn't take too long to fix. I'll do it tomorrow."

"Thanks." Jonathan found was now feeling rather affectionate, prompting him to brush back some of Edward's hair and place a soft kiss behind his ear. "That sounds perfect."

**Edward's POV**

Edward almost flinched a bit from the gentleness of the movement. It was such a contrast from how he'd been handled earlier, and he clung more tightly to Jonathan, craving the love and approval he'd come to expect. He let out a relaxed sigh as he felt Jonathan's lightly calloused fingers rubbing his neck, then moving up to rub his scalp.

"Please, don't stop." Edward was nearly begging, but it felt so good, due to how much he'd been yanked about by his hair earlier.

He heard a smug, "Mmm, do you have another headache, then?"

Edward nodded as Jon began to lightly run his fingers across Edward's scalp, causing his head and spine to tingle a bit. He nuzzled in a bit closer, as he exhaled again. He'd been getting headaches quite a bit recently, which were often inconvenient, but at least always gave him an excuse to get Jon to take care of him.

"That's what you get for sitting in a dark room looking at your computers for days on end. It's not good for you."

Edward knew. He'd read the studies. Still, Jon wasn't really in a position to be giving advice on healthy living. "You think it would be healthier to run around the city wearing a costume in the middle of the night playing with weaponized hallucinogens, then?"

"Now, that would be ridiculous. We can't become one of those couples that has all the same hobbies. Especially for people like us, we'll end up like Joker and Harley."

"I guess you're right. You'd look pretty ridiculous blonde"

"And why am _I_ Harley?"

"Because you wear less clothing."

"That's hardly—"

"And you used to be one of the doctors at Arkham."

"I suppose that's fair."

This was actually going to work. Jon hadn't realized anything was unusual. He might figure it out eventually, but he didn't know right now. It was Edward's secret. To be fair, nothing _was_ really unusual. If anything, Edward was feeling more willing to be obliging. He wasn't even upset about Jon's lack of communication anymore.

"Oh, what's this?" As Jon rested his open book on Edward's lower back, he felt his muscles tense slightly from the feel of the cool pages against his bare skin. He felt Jon run his finger along the side of the scratch on his back. "You have a mark here."

"Yeah, I was using my cane to scratch my back, and I used the wrong end. I wasn't wearing my jacket, so it actually tore through my shirt, so I had to throw that away." It was a lie Edward knew was believable, why would he admit to doing something that stupid unless it was true? "And before you ask, yes, I saved the buttons."

"Well, thank you." Jon _actually_ believed him. It was almost uncanny how normal the conversation had become. Somehow, it mollified his guilt. After all, he wasn't hurting _Jon_, Jon had no idea, and actually _couldn't_ have any idea. Edward was putting himself in moderate danger, but Scarecrow wouldn't _kill_ him. And if things got out of hand, he could always tell Jon his own version of events later.

"I know you won't replace yours," Jon continued, "but seeing as we wear the same brand, it seems wasteful for you to throw them all away like that."

They wore the same brand because Edward ordered his shirts. Jon didn't _always_ run around in burlap (Edward would hardly be seen in public with him that way), and when he bothered to dress himself, he actually did so rather tastefully (even though Edward found his color palate a bit on the dull side). But Jon's measurements were rather unusual (not unlike Edward's), so Edward had placed orders for him from the same company he used, which allowed a wider range in custom sizing.

"I still don't understand why you do that. It takes less time to get a new shirt out of the closet and order a replacement for the old one than to sew on a button."

It was true, Jon was so strange about things like that. He was a brilliant chemist and psychologist, with many deeply involved hobbies; surely his time could be better spent than sewing buttons on replaceable shirts. It wasn't even his costume (although Edward still didn't understand why Jon didn't let him source that out to the personal tailor that Edward kept in his employ).

Edward blamed it on Jon's country upbringing, where he'd been poor and had to make do with whatever he had. He also thought Jon's research style had something to do with it. Edward's first priority was always money. It wasn't his _top_ priority, but it was always his first one. Because having money never hurt, and not having money often did. But from what Edward understood, Jon's first priority was always his research. So, once he'd lost his job, he'd quickly used up his savings to do more work, and ended up in a bad cycle of trying to make money, just to continue to spend it on research.

Jon was far too intelligent and capable a person to be forced to live that way, and it was made all the more disgusting by the fact that the only reason it had happened was because society disregarded his brilliant research due its delusion of morality. The hypocrisy made him a bit sick. They lived in Gotham City, the only people who had any morals were Batman and his little group of friends (as much as Edward hated them, at least they were _consistent). _Everyone else was no better than Jon, himself and the rest of the so-called "super-criminals."

Besides, outside of his villainy, Jon was basically a nineteenth century gentleman. He read old literature and _danced_. With a quick change of clothing, the man could have fit perfectly into a dinner party thrown by Lord Byron. The idea of him living in anything that resembled the rural squalor of his youth was simply unacceptable.

Edward felt Jon pick the book back up. "This was the one you said you'd read, remember? After I solved your puzzle."

"But I hate fiction. Besides, I already know the _plot_." Yes, he'd _read_ it, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to complain about it first.

"Reading _about _books and reading books are different, Edward. You read so quickly too, it won't take you very long. If you really don't like it, I won't make you read any more."

**Jonathan's POV**

"Reading _about _books and reading books are different, Edward. You read so quickly too, it won't take you very long. If you really don't like it, I won't make you read any more."

It wasn't that Edward disliked fiction. He liked movies and other visual media. Edward probably just disliked prose because it asked the reader to think through another person's point of view, a task which, for Edward, was both difficult and unappealing. The only written fiction Edward enjoyed was _Sherlock Holmes_. Jonathan felt the need to at least _try_ to educate him in culture.

"My head hurts. You read it." Jonathan wasn't sure if Edward was actually trying to find a way to spend time with him, or if he was just being lazy. Jonathan was fairly certain he didn't have a headache, but Jonathan wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to read his favorite book aloud.

"Very well, then." Jonathan flipped the book back to the beginning, a small smirk upon his face, as he cleared his throat to begin. "In the bosom of one of the spacious cov—"

He felt Edward jolt as he began to read, and then look up at him, terrified at the sound of Jonathan using his Scarecrow voice (albeit, without the slight modification that the mask added to it). Jonathan chuckled a bit, and pulled him closer, leaning down to kiss him. When he spoke, Jonathan used his normal voice. "Something wrong, Edward?"

"N-No... I-I just wasn't expecting it."

"I didn't think you would be. Although, I suppose you have a point, it's a bit dramatic to read the entire thing that way. I'll save it for the end scene with the Galloping Hessian." Jonathan had that part memorized, which meant Edward would be hearing it in the dark. "Here, I'll start over."

Edward smiled a bit, before relaxing again and letting out a sigh of relief, as Jonathan restarted the book, soon losing himself in the dual comforts of Irving's prose and Edward's company.

**A/N: **Okay, so I hope you liked it. I know it was really long. Let me know what you thought, because I don't write a lot of smut, so I do like to get feedback on it. Also, I don't know why I tried to be weirdly subtle about the book he's reading, probably because I was writing smut and I couldn't be subtle about anything else. But it's _Legend of Sleepy Hollow_, which is stated as Crane's favorite.

If I write more smut, it'll either write a follow-up to this (ie: Edward's retaliation), or one that shows how things work with them "normally." I sort of want to do the latter, if only because (as I tried to convey in this chapter), it's not as if this little lie exists for them as a complete black and white contrast. The contrast is more purple and yellow. It's not like sex without this is loving and nice, and they need this to get away from that. Both have bad and good points, but they're very _different_ for each. Also, I personally have more of a thing for the willing submission concept (let's just say, Jonathan and I have more in common than bad high school experiences and growing up in Georgia), so I would probably _enjoy_ writing the latter more.

Then again, that may or may not be true, as I wrote _this_ because I wanted to see Edward _talk_ like the Riddler during sex and see how long that could go on before Jonathan shut him up. This was precipitated by a conversation I had with my beta about which characters from _Batman_ we would sleep with. I said I would sleep with Tommy Elliot, because I have a thing for surgeons; Catwoman, because that seemed super fun and not awkward; and Riddler, provided I could gag him once I got tired of hearing him talk (Jonathan lasted longer than I probably would have).

Also, I actually really _love_ Riddler's voice in _Asylum/City_, because it's Wally Wingart who voiced Tallest Red in _Invader Zim _(a personal favorite show of mine), and I think he did it perfectly. But that's the _point _of Riddler's voice, to be _super_ irritating. Although I could totally listen to Wally call people "retarded monkeys" all day.

**Review Answers: **

**Rickman101:** See, the author's note above is sort of for you! I felt really bad when I read your review, because I wasn't going to leave forever, and I didn't mean to scare you. Although I'm really appreciative of your feedback. I agree that I also prefer the sort of inter-locking format that I've used in this chapter and most of the others (although I think the repeating format was necessary for the first chapter). And yeah, when I wrote that, it occurred to me how much the simple apology had meaning, although at the same time, _genuine_ apologies are relatively rare, even to those of us who aren't comic book supervillains. Also, don't feel bad about not knowing weird American linguistic things, you speak the language as it should be spoken, knowing what the rest of us are doing to butcher it will probably only make you sad. And you shouldn't feel bad about taking your time to review, I sometimes have to do that with posting (as is obvious).

**darkwolf1121:** Thank you, I usually research my writing pretty heavily, and I know a lot about most of the things Crane does on my own without my usual need to research (I'm from Georgia, I share his love of nineteenth century supernatural literature, I was raised by a psychologist, etc.). I do kind of step up even my normal research game for Edward's side of things, though, because he's such an intellectual elitist, I feel like I have to. But I'm glad to hear it paid off. Also, I hope this didn't seem dark and angsty, it was really meant to be almost cynical, but also possibly decent in the smut department.

**xXTwistedPrincessXx:** I am glad to hear that, because your reviews are really substantial, which I find really helpful to me as a writer, and I really enjoy reading them. To your points, I guess that no matter what I do I hear Cillian Murphy when I think of his voice, and I actually think that's perfect because it's not his normal accent either (he's Irish) and you can _hear_him controlling it. I can't imagine him like losing it and being southern though, so I wanted another way to work it in, and then I remembered my own fun adventures with pins and pens. Also, I know, Gotham U. isn't exactly on anyone's college wish list. And no, he didn't know what he was signing up for, but the worst part is that he ended up _liking _the amorality he found there. I feel like he was probably treated really well from the time he got there as a student, so I can see how he would become so upset/bitter over being fired. If he and Edward have one thing in common, it's the fact that they both have a huge sense of entitlement. It's funny you should mention the possibility of Jon checking to make sure it really _was _Edward, because I thought about doing that, but I felt like I couldn't work it in without it ruining the moment a bit. Also, I think this chapter answers one of the questions you had about Scarecrow and Jonathan's before. This is how I see Scarecrow, as a safety valve for Jonathan's normal control over himself, if that makes sense. As someone who cosplays, I really enjoy the freedom of running around in a costume and the freedom it gives me. I also use writing for some of that outlet. Self-control can be draining, even when you like the results, and I feel like Scarecrow is an expression of the more ridiculous/whimsical elements that Jonathan had to get rid of, but still would like to play with sometimes, twisted and made into something dark and terrifying. I hope you enjoyed the smut, let me know what you thought.

**Kat:** Well, see, in some ways my author's note above is also for you. I hope it helps you understand that I'm not begging for something I want, as much as I would like to know I'm not wasting my time. And while it may seem a bit rude to put it that way, I'm at the point in my life where the thing I have the least of is free time, and I have a million things to do with it. Like anyone who writes, I am often seized with the urge to do so, and I do, but since it's written by hand, posting takes a lot of time and effort. Also, I'm okay if that doesn't make me a "true writer," I'm not sure I believe such a thing exists. Many of the best writers in English literature wrote for money (Doyle, Trollope, Dickens, Stevenson, etc.) and many others took the opinions of others very seriously and changed plot elements over it (Tolkien, Lewis, etc.). The idea of writers working only for themselves is more of a contemporary trend that gained popularity starting in the twentieth century, but some great work was produced by it (Lovecraft held this opinion of writing and he is one of my favorites). I think it's just a matter of how someone works best, and I know how I work best: with feedback. If I don't fit the current definition of "true writer" because of it, so be it.

**Guest**: Well, thank you, I really like writing Edward afraid because he's so smart that his mind can go through a million different things while he's panicking, and it's super fun.

**Antic****:** Don't worry, I wasn't going to stop writing the pairing. At most I would transition to something else (although that would probably focus less exclusively on them and also show some of my other favorites like Tommy Elliot, Talia, and Mr. Freeze). Yeah, I really enjoy the sort of push/pull of wanting to stay with/protect Edward and wanting to see him afraid. One of my other projects (which I am writing but won't be up until August because it's part of a Reverse Big Bang) sort of deals with this through the vehicle of the _Hush_ universe plot of Edward having terminal brain cancer (and he was also working with Scarecrow at this time in canon, too), and like Crane having to actually get his priorities in that regard in order. And, of course, it's always about Edward. I like the last chapter a lot though, because it was sort of the version of chapter 2, but for Edward, where like _he_ learns to feel remorse and empathy, which was actually a lot harder to engineer than it was for Jonathan, because he's just _so _self-absorbed. That's the other reason I like sticking dates on them, so I can track their "progress," of Jonathan becoming less emotionally screwed up, and Edward becoming less self-absorbed (at least in the context of each other). Actually, as I'm writing this, I am realizing that I was representing those stages of their beings through their respective sexual histories: Jonathan's as a complete disconnect from something he clearly can have and Edward's as an extreme and indulgent retreat into himself. It makes sense given how I see them, but like realizing it because it helps me understand _why_ I think their relationship being more than just a friendship is important. Thank you (this is exactly the reason I really appreciate feedback).

**Adelita Latigazo****:** Yeah, one of my betas said that too, actually (and he's actually a straight male friend I've convinced to like this pairing through my writings (although he already enjoyed dark, twisted psychology)). There is something strangely endearing about the last chapter in how simple it is. Also, this was down and it was pretty dirty, so I hope you enjoyed it.

**extremebabymakeover****:** Thank you, I'm really not a crier either (especially with writing, I usually only tear-up over movies etc.), but I'm glad that I could evoke some emotion. One of my betas said that she thought the chapter was really moving as well. And well, actually it's funny you should mention that it seems like I've lived in their heads, because for Crane, I sort of have. Without going into personal details, our high school experiences are _eerily_ similar, and I'm not saying this in a "I was made fun of in high school and am blowing things way out of proportion" way, mine was _definitely _worse than his, on the sheer high school front. Luckily I had a stable home-life to balance it out. I actually had never heard his backstory until I got into Batman in college and was _really _unsettled when I read how similar it was. I also was unsettled by the fact that he shares my love of nineteenth century supernatural literature, and English Country Dance (presumably the dance he's obsessed with because it's the dance depicted in _Legend of Sleepy Hollow_). I've been doing English Country for about a year now (and while I liked Batman before I didn't know about the dance thing until a few months ago). I also have an obsession with self-control, like he does. As for Edward, well, I don't know. I've joked with my friends sometimes that I am the best traits of Jonathan Crane, mixed with the worst traits of Edward Nigma. I tend to be a bit of an elitist sometimes, although I try not to be, and I am very materialistic and I can talk forever. I don't really have the narcissism though, or the buried self-loathing (like Crane, my opinion of myself is best described as "work in progress"). I do tend to research things a lot, although I don't retain the knowledge as well as I'm sure he does. I try to understand Edward though. And I even try to understand what Jonathan could possibly like about him besides the fear, and _sometimes_ I see it. I see shades of people I would be/am/have been attracted to in him... although, usually very small ones.


	8. Chapter 8: Fragments

**Author's Note: **This is a bit different than other chapters have been. What exactly it's supposed to be is discussed below. I wrote it while replaying _Arkham City_, particularly while running through "Riddler's Revenge." It does sort of go into the idea of the outside perspective, that some people asked about on the pairing. I'm sorry it's so late. I've been swamped with a really difficult class combined with a sudden personal life (remember two chapters ago I said I was single, well I sort of still am, but not completely, it's complicated, and was rather unexpected). I also lost my cat a few days ago (again, completely unexpected). Normally, I would have still written, but all of my writing time has been funneled into the Reverse Big Bang thing I've been doing, and you'll see the results of that soon enough (later than I thought due to setbacks, but it should be done by the end of tomorrow, actually).

So, I was asked to mention some of my project ideas to all of you to see if you were fond of any of them. Ironically, I've actually seen a few of them reorganized and repurposed into the story I am working on for the Riddler Reverse Big Bang I'm doing, so you'll see those soon. Most of my other ideas involve more characters. As a general rule, the following characters seem to be prominent in all of my ideas: Edward, Jonathan, Victor (Mr. Freeze), Tommy Elliot, Talia al Ghul and sometimes Mad Hatter and/or Poison Ivy. Batman and Catwoman tend to run around in the background (I sort of like to show them as much as the normal comics usually show the villains), usually with Oracle and maybe Nightwing. I'm going to break them down and put a few sentences of explanation with them. Anything with a "*" by it means it's not a full story idea, just a piece I want to integrate somewhere.

**Pairings:** I like the following, and I don't really vary (except with Harley... that whore). I know, I do the unthinkable: I mix slash and het. But you know what? That's how the real world is.

Scarecrow/Riddler

Batman/Catwoman

Barbara/Dick

Tommy/Talia (I have reasons, and they're _really_ good)

Victor/Nora (and by this I mean I don't buy the _Flashpoint _bullshit about him being a crazy stalker)

Joker/Harley

Harley/Ivy

**Deathnote Crossover:** I saw some art that implied that one of these was going to be written. My friend who was on top of that, though, claims it never happened. I had an idea that would basically involve Light Yagami living in Gotham City, getting a Deathnote and using it. It would take place in the _Hush_ universe, and his first public kill would be President Lex Luthor, leaving Talia (who runs LexCorp in that universe) as the main suspect, which draws her into the plot and exposes links between the Deathnote and the Lazarus Pit. Edward and Jonathan would be very important (in fact, I would say that Edward is turning out to be as major as Light, as I work on this), and they would take roles not dissimilar to that of Naomi Misora and Near (both of which I felt had underdeveloped potential). Mr. Freeze and Tommy Elliot would feature in this, along with Batman and Catwoman (of course), and Joker and Harley would be in it as well. I think I'd need to at least talk to the first person who thought of this cross-over, because I don't want to steal their idea without knowing they abandoned it.

**Martha Wayne: Real Person:* **So, this woman birthed the goddamn Batman, and yet, she's sort of a footnote in the DC universe. I've always been pissed that the comics seem to think it's _more _feasible that a man could be a full time ER Surgeon _and_ run a Fortune 500 company, than that a woman could do _either _(I think it has something to do with DC's inability to develop women who aren't wearing spandex (except Amanda Waller, she's great)). I really want to write something that assumes that she was the CEO of Waynetech, and that she was more of a stand-up/threatening person like Bruce is. The more I write on this idea, the more it makes Bruce make more sense (as it also explains why he wasn't that close to his mother, if she worked all the time, and was sort of scary).

**The Winter Sapphire:** This, I admit, is wish fulfillment. If any of you have seen _Once Upon a Time_, then telling you it is my favorite show, and telling you that Regina and Dr. Frankenstein are my favorite characters will instantly explain to you why I love Mr. Freeze so very much. I want a story where he brings Nora back and she's like "wow, you did a lot of bad things, but I'm going to help you fix them" and the DC Universe realizes it's just fucked the Frieses for the last five years or so for no reason, and that it owes them, and gives Nora a Star Sapphire (the Green Lantern thing that's powered by love). The story then becomes a realistic villain redemption arc, where Victor and Nora try to become heroes (with Nora calling herself "The Winter Sapphire"), while simultaneously having to deal with the suspicions of Batman (and maybe other Justice League members), the expectations/debts owed to other Gotham Rogues, and their own issues of trying to restart their lives basically 5-10 years after they were together last. It won't have a stupidly tragic ending, but it also probably won't end with them as accepted Justice Leaguers either. I sort of want to explore the idea of "love" in this universe, and how people are considered "good" if they love all of mankind, even if they conduct themselves like assholes in their personal lives (example: several Green Lanterns with their love interests). I think seeing people who are super devoted to each other on the Watchtower could spark some interesting arguments about what makes good and bad people.

**Hush Sequel**: Some of these ideas will probably end up lumped into the Deathnote idea if I write it, but assuming I don't the basic idea of this, is that the _Hush_ plotline didn't get to the end of whatever Riddler and Scarecrow's plan was (which was sort of implied by both of them at the time), and the continuation involves more manipulation and games with Riddler and Scarecrow as puppet-masters. While writing this, though, I found they were in it less than I thought they would be, because (much like _Hush_ itself), they're not really _doing_ anything. Tommy and Talia being manipulated into a relationship like the one that Bruce and Selina were manipulated into during the actual comic is sort of the central focus. This one does incorporate the Martha Wayne idea nicely, as it also centers on Riddler targeting Waynetech (since he knows Bruce is Batman in that universe), and Talia doing the same (her reasons have to do more with daddy issues, as they always do), and has Bruce having to deal with his feelings toward the company in a way that is more complex than "he needs the company for money/technology."

**Owlman AU: **So, I actually hate the normal "canon" idea that Owlman isn't Bruce Wayne, because that's a cop-out. Also, why is everyone else still the same, but evil, and Bruce just isn't? The point of Batman to me was that Bruce Wayne was somehow special, and if that's not true, then not only Batman, but much of the DC Universe starts ripping itself apart at the seams due to the fact that their whole universe is based on the concept of the power of will, and Bruce Wayne's will presumably being the strongest. Sorry, there's no such thing as a "missed opportunity" with Bruce Wayne, that's the very nature of his character. So, if I wrote Owlman, it would be Bruce. I have some interesting concepts for developing the others, like theming Edward around The Wizard from Wizard of Oz (ie: green suit, having to be sought out, but helping eventually, "man behind the curtain" etc.), and keeping Crane as the "Scarecrow" but also theming that around Oz (because in that movie the Scarecrow is the source of hope) and making his obsession be with hope and how it can't be destroyed in humanity, even in a world like the Owlman universe, instead of fear. This world would also feature "Commissioner Kyle" (ie: Catwoman as a corrupt figure of authority, rather than a burglar with a heart of gold, and in a similarly complicated relationship with Bruce), the League of Peace led by the immortal, unkillable source of unending hope, Ra's al Ghul and his daughter, Talia, who thinks that the world can be improved but never through death or killing. Former villain scientist turned good out of a desperate desire to help his wife, Victor Freis. And a sort of "Doctors Without Borders" version of Thomas Elliot.

**Encore:** So, I really, really, _really_ like the Music Meister (from _Batman: The Brave and the Bold_). I think his powers are really unique and interesting, because his mind control is better than Ivy or Mad Hatter's but it's so limited by the fact that he has to sing/be heard to get it to work. I honestly think that him coming up with convoluted methods for making people listen to him would be super fun. I also love the idea of him working with Riddler, Scarecrow and Hatter, because he's more ostentatious than Riddler and (like Hatter) also obsessed with a blonde chick. And I feel like he combines all the things that Scarecrow _doesn't_ like about both Hatter and Riddler (ie: mind control, crazy clothing, costume changes, campness, etc.) in one really irritating person. And I also want to make an interpretation of him that keeps all of his ideas from _Brave and the Bold_, but transitions him into another continuity, like _Arkham Asylum_ or a _Hush_ style comic universe (ie: somewhere a bit darker). I would keep all of his ridiculousness, but I would just turn up the intensity a bit. I'm thinking about putting him in a future chapter (where I go into Crane's dance obsession) already, but if you like him, I'm also considering doing more, like writing a story with some ridiculous plan in it.

**League of Doom Dating Service: **Wider DC universe setting. Riddler and Scarecrow use their combined skills in psychology and tactics to create a dating service for the members of the league, focused on pairing them off into compatibly, synergistic matches. Simultaneously, Riddler hacks into the Watchtower computer to do the same thing to the Justice League (by putting them on missions with people they are compatible with) only their matches are meant to be as inharmonious and distracting as possible (alternately, their matches are done without any regard to synergy, and are just meant to put the Justice League in a better mood so beating are generally less painful). Okay, I know, it sounds ridiculous, but it has it's grounding in canon. In _Hush_, it's Riddler and Scarecrow who figure out how to get Batman and Catwoman's thing working, and that's not the only romance they play to their advantage in that plotline. This would be happening as a follow-up or a prelude to a Rogue Alliance take-over of the League of Doom, in which they would agree to place Talia (a competent person they all trust equally) in charge of the League (a job I think she's done before in some canons). I'm sure there would be some underlying plot to take over the League (if it's a prelude) or to get rid of Talia and run things themselves (if it's a follow up), but I haven't really thought into the details. I just like the idea of a ridiculous dating service for Supervillains. This idea is actually mentioned briefly in this chapter, but I've had it for a while now, actually (since I started watching JLU).

I know you were probably expecting more things that were Edward/Jonathan centric, but the main ideas I had for them are being put into the thing I'm doing for the Reverse Big Bang, so you'll already see them (I can't really tell you about it, though). Again, if any of these ideas do appeal to you though, please, let me know.

**This Chapter**: As I said, it's different. But it goes along with the sort of "outside" perspective some of you expressed interest in. All of these are based on/around _Arkham City,_ and set right before the game. The first series of exchanges are between Riddler's various goons/thugs/retarded monkeys. The others are between either Riddler or Scarecrow and some other Rogue as they find out what's going on. None of these have the normal interior perspective, because I've decided to keep that as applying to their relationship with each other exclusively (sort of to illustrate how much more involved they are mentally when they talk to each other than when they talk to anyone else), at least in this story. A lot of these ended up being Scarecrow, more than I thought, probably because Riddler just locks himself in a room with computers all day, every day.

Also there _is_ something going on in these, Riddler and Scarecrow have a plan, if you read the story I'll be posting soon for the Riddler Reverse Big Bang, that will link into it (it's just my theory of what they were up to during _City_, because they were clearly up to _something_). I might write more of these, if anyone likes them. Paying attention to the dates here is important, I am sort of trying to show the evolution of their relationship over time, from an outside perspective, that's why some of the things they're saying may seem contradictory. They're not. It's just an evolution of the relationship over time.

Finally, I've actually tried to use my English Country Dance knowledge to work into Scarecrow's fighting style (as described below in his fight with Nightwing). For those of you familiar, figures I've used are Setting, Siding, Change of Hands, Arming, and Gypsying (I think that's all of them). I regret to inform you, that my knowledge and understanding of hacking is not at the same level as my understanding of ECD and martial arts. I do know a few things, but not much. I've tried to make Oracle and Riddler's hacker war at least vaguely believable (ie: I haven't used terms I don't understand). I apologize if I've failed.

**Monkeys**

**Date: Immediately Before _Arkham City_**

"I hear Riddler never even leaves that room with all the computers," one of Riddler's henchmen said to his companion, as they stood outside the door of one of the hideouts.

"Yeah, but I don't really mind that. He's even worse in person than he is over the cameras."

"You've actually _seen _him?"

"Only once. He was meeting with Dent, and he didn't want to let him into his lab thing, so he met him down in the main break room. The weird thing was, that all the guys Dent brought with him, were actually _our _guys."

"...Woah."

"Yeah, I know. It should have made me feel better, but it actually scared the shit out of me. I don't know how he does things like that."

"It's like he knows everything."

"...Probably because he spends all his time in that room with the computers."

* * *

"Oh, it's just you. For a second I thought it was Scarecrow again."

"...The Scarecrow? Don't tell me he's back."

"Yeah... he just went into the boss's main room. The boss told me to make sure that everyone knows not to mention it except to our guys. We have to pretend we haven't see him if we go undercover."

"Can do. I _wish_ I didn't have to see him. I hate that guy. Have you ever actually watched him move? He's like some sort of monster from a horror movie: lurking around in the dark, dropping down from the ceiling to scare people. Why does Riddler even let him stay here?"

"They're friends... or something."

"No way. No one could be friends with _that_ guy... And the Scarecrow's not winning any popularity contests either."

"No man, it's true. Scarecrow even saved his life once."

"What?"

"Yeah, didn't you hear about it? Two of the guys went into the computer room to talk to the boss, and he started insulting them, like he always does. Well, one of them couldn't take it anymore and attacked him. I'm sure he thought he could kill him, the boss is like a stick. But he didn't know that Scarecrow was hiding up in the ceiling. I don't know what Scarecrow did to him, but it was so bad that the other guy lost it just from watching. He wasn't right for weeks, and he still can't talk about it."

"Bet that's why Riddler keeps it so dark in there: to give that freak a place to hide."

"Yeah, I hate going in there now. I'm always afraid he's going to give me to Scarecrow for one of his experiments."

"R-Riddler wouldn't do that. Would he?"

"I've seen it happen."

"No way!"

"Yeah... I was in there the other day, and he and Scarecrow were talking real quiet, like they always do. Then, the boss called Vic over to them. Next thing I know, Scarecrow is sticking those needles in his arm, and Vic is rolling around on the floor screaming."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah, I've never been so scared in my whole damn life. And he and the boss just acted like it was nothing, they started talking about chemistry and shit."

"Damn... guess Riddler really is helping him with that poison of his, then."

"What do you expect? The boss is another freak just like the rest of them."

"...Yeah, I guess so."

* * *

"You're not going to believe what I just saw."

"What?"

"Well, I went in there to talk to the boss, and he wasn't at his computers."

"He was probably asleep. I think he sleeps, at least. It's always hard to know with Riddler."

"Yeah, maybe. But... the Scarecrow was there, sitting at the computer like he owned the place. He was even wearing the boss's hat and playing with his cane, like it was nothing: singing some nursery rhyme."

"Shit... Do you think he killed the boss?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I know if _I_ spent that much time with the Riddler, _I _would have killed him."

"Yeah, you've got a point. So, what did you do?"

"I kind of froze. He just looked at me, and smiled all creepy-like, you know how he is. Then he pointed at the hat and said that he was the boss right now."

"Did you tell him anything?"

"Not at first. But then he asked me if I had a problem with that, and I was too scared not to tell him."

"...Maybe he really _did_ kill the boss. ...Does that mean we work for the Scarecrow now?"

"I _really _don't want to work for Scarecrow. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I hope Riddler's alright."

* * *

"Why is Scarecrow here all the damn time now? What is he even _doing_ for the boss?"

"...I don't really want to know myself."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I _mean_ Joker and Harley are weird enough, and I'd rather not know about them."

"You're not saying that Scarecrow and the boss are...?"

"I'm _saying_ that Scarecrow spends a _lot _of time here, I'm pretty sure Riddler only has one bedroom back there, the two of them got close in prison and I _really _don't want to know anymore. I feel like I already know too much."

"...Yeah, now I feel the same way."

**Lessons**

**Date: One Week Before _Arkham City_**

"What did he do, anyway?" Hush asked, as he helped Scarecrow carry the body of a dead thug out into an alleyway.

"He attacked the Riddler. Insubordination is unacceptable at this stage of the mission."

"Yeah, but this looks personal," Hush observed as he examined the man's body. From the look on the man's face, it would have been believable that he'd died of fright. The only evidence contradicting that diagnosis was the rope that had been wrapped around his neck so tightly it was spotted with blood, and the countless small puncture wounds on his arm: rows of dots, each in sets of four.

"It was necessary to make an example of him. It teaches a lesson." Scarecrow's voice sounded almost lecture-like. "The story about what I did to him will spread through their ranks until the terror is universal. Rule by fear is the most simple and effective kind, after all."

"I took your class, Professor, I know the theory," Hush answered, possibly a bit annoyed. "But I also know medicine: I'm a surgeon. I know the difference between a controlled attack and unnecessary force. And this is certainly a case of the latter."

"Perhaps that's true. Does it really matter? Or is there something else you're trying to ask me by pointing this out, Thomas?"

Hush flinched a bit from the fact that Scarecrow had somehow turned the probing questions on him. However, his eyes narrowed a moment later. "I'm _asking_ if there was another reason behind your actions that I don't know about."

"Do you _think_ there is?"

"I _think_ there's more going on than you making sure that we show a united front."

"And what makes you think that?"

"No one thing. Everything, really. I know I'm new to the whole 'super-criminal' business, but I've gone in on this with you two completely. But it's pretty obvious you and Riddler still have a lot of secrets."

"The Riddler likes secrets. That's who he is."

"Yet he doesn't seem to keep any from you. At least not from my perspective."

Scarecrow was silent for a moment. "It's not an issue of trust. We only brought you in because I thought you could be trusted."

"And because I already knew too much."

Scarecrow shook his head in a rather patronizing way. "Thomas, think about it. That's only more proof that I trust you. If anyone else had known, Riddler or I would have just killed them. Do you remember what happened to the other staff doctor that found out?"

"...He died when Joker took over Arkham. ...But it wasn't Joker, that wasn't how he died, I did the autopsy: it was fear gas."

"You really thought that was just a coincidence? I suppose you didn't find out about all of this until afterward, though. Still, 'The Scarecrow's random acts of violence are all just a giant misdirection, you know that."

"Yeah, I do. And I also know that you wouldn't have done _this_," Hush indicated the thug they had just dropped behind a dumpster, "if someone attacked _me_."

"Well, of course I wouldn't, Thomas. You're perfectly capable of defending yourself."

"You know what I mean. If I didn't have my guns, or if I was surprised, and this guy had gone after me. You would have saved me, in that case. You would have killed him, and he would have died screaming in terror, but you wouldn't have done _this._ You wouldn't have choked him so hard that his neck started to bleed, and you wouldn't have injected him with enough fear toxin to kill an elephant. In fact, I don't even think there's enough toxin in that whole contraption to support that many injections and you know that. Why?"

"I know you understand the _concept_ of friendship, Thomas. Even if you've been rather unsuccessful with it personally."

"Well, I know _we're_ not friends. You're my adviser or something. It's like college all over again. Still, I've known you for a long time, Dr. Crane. You don't have friends: it's not how you are."

"I never said it was."

"Then, what is it? Why did you do this?"

"You don't want to know." Scarecrow said it as a simple statement of fact: not a threat or to pique Hush's curiosity, but as a simple observation.

"If I didn't want to know, I wouldn't be asking you! This isn't exactly my idea of a rousing conversation!"

"If you wanted to know, you would know already," Scarecrow continued. "It's rather obvious, from your perspective. You just don't want to see it. Presumably, that means you're somehow afraid of it. Predictable enough, given your wealthy, conservative background and your rather conventional self-image."

Hush was obviously annoyed now. "Is it possible for you to have a conversation without making it about uncovering people's hidden fears? I get it! You like fear! It's what you do! Can we move onto something else, maybe?"

"We could also talk about nineteenth century supernatural literature, or English Country Dance, if you'd prefer."

"Or _you_ could answer my simple question without trying to distract me by conjuring up phantom phobias! I'm not a college student anymore! I deserve to be spoken to as an equal!"

Scarecrow seemed to consider this for a moment, evaluating Hush's level of anger. "I'm sleeping with him."

"Really, Doc—" Hush stopped mid-sentence and blinked a few times as he processed what Scarecrow had just told him. "...Yeah, I guess that _was_ right in front of me." Even with the bandages, Hush's face made it clear that he was evaluating the last few months in context. "...Literally, a few times. Thanks for clearing that up."

"That's what teachers are for, Thomas." Scarecrow suddenly looked up at the sky that was now completely dark. "I have work to do. Tell Edward I should be in by three."

"Alright."

"Thank you." With that, Scarecrow leapt up onto the nearby scaffolding, then proceeded to climb quickly up the side of the building like some sort of terrifying insect.

Hush blinked a few times, suddenly realizing something. "Hey!" He looked up in Scarecrow's direction. "I'm not homophobic!" He said it with all the intonation of a middle-schooler denying a parent's accusation of immaturity.

He then made a face as he realized he'd just shouted those words into the sky of Arkham City, and the variety of contexts they could be placed into. He sighed, and when he spoke, his voice was resigned. "...I've got the _worst_ fucking adviser."

**Perspective**

**Date: One Week Before _Arkham City_**

"Well, well, well... I wasn't expecting to see _you_ here. Or anywhere, ever again, for that matter," Catwoman said, as she landed next to Scarecrow on a rooftop. "I heard no one's seen you since Croc got you back at the Asylum. Even Batman couldn't find you. Everyone thinks you died."

"Maybe I did. Maybe I'm a ghost. Or maybe I came back from the dead. It's been known to happen."

"Or maybe you just shot Croc up with that drug of yours, and he doesn't want to talk about it, so he told everyone he ate you."

"Think what you like, Ms. Kyle."

Catwoman looked at him. "Really, doctor, so formal. But, you're right to be nice: I'm still mad." She suddenly flexed her claws, but Scarecrow didn't seem alarmed.

"If you were going to attack me, you would have done so before I saw you."

Catwoman sighed, and returned her hand to its normal position. "It's true. I have bigger concerns than you right now. But that doesn't mean I've forgotten."

"I know that you don't trust me. But I'm just here to transmit a message, the Riddler says you won't take his calls."

"What can I say?" Catwoman asked, reaching up to run her fingers along the ears of her helmet. "His voice hurts my sensitive ears."

"He has a tip for you. With his information, you can get out Arkham City easily, and get out rich."

"It sounds to good to be true; that probably means it is. Knowing Riddler, it could be directions to one of those stupid traps he uses to kill people."

"No traps, Ms. Kyle. Why would the Riddler want you dead?"

"I don't know. Why is Riddler working with you? He's not exactly following his normal, socially illiterate narcissist pattern."

"He wants control of Arkham City, like everyone else. Currently, Dent's the one who's been stopping us from getting a foothold. Dent's been planning on pulling this job, but the Riddler thinks you can stop him and do it yourself, if we give you our information. We'd prefer Dent not get his hands on this money. We already have all the money we need, and there's no one on our team with the skills to do it, besides me, and frankly it's not worth my time."

"I see... is that what's up with all those ridiculous looking question marks I've seen everywhere? That guy really is a nerd. Still, why pick me? Why not one of the others?"

"The Riddler analyzed who would be most capable of completing the job, and we compared that with my list of people I thought would be most interested in either the payoff or upsetting Dent. You were at the top of that list."

"Well, you two make quite the little team, don't you? How long has this been going on? It seems pretty serious."

"Does it? Maybe it is."

Catwoman looked at him for a moment, considering it. "Now, I know you're lying to me."

"That kind of relationship with an accomplice seems more like your sort of thing."

Catwoman gave a falsely annoyed sigh. "Don't tell me Ivy's been spreading rumors."

"She doesn't have to. In spite of their low intellect levels, the thugs here seem to have rather vivid imaginations. Don't worry though, the rest of us know other criminals aren't really your type."

Catwoman was silent for a moment, however, when spoke, her voice was completely normal. "You're not going to upset me like that, doctor. Batman's an idle curiosity, nothing more."

"That's not my business, nor do I really care. Do you want the tip about the vault or not?"

Catwoman seemed to consider it for a moment. "Sure. No reason not to have all my options." She took the large envelope he offered her and opened it. A piece of paper and a cell phone slide out into her hand. She looked first at the paper, examining its contents.

"That's the address where Dent has the card with the information you need. That phone will be compatible with it. He'll kill you if he catches you in there, but I suppose that's fairly obvious."

"Aww, and here I thought your little murder attempt meant you didn't care about me..." Catwoman's eyes widened as she looked at the piece of paper. "The Tyger Vault? I get to steal from Harv, Strange _and_ Ivy? This may be too good to pass up, after all."

"So, you are interested? Very well. Then I suppose I'll leave it to you. If you have any questions, well, I suppose you know where to go for answers. And I would appreciate it if you didn't mention to anyone that you saw me."

She glanced at Scarecrow as she walked past him toward the edge of the roof. "It's not like anyone would believe me if I did."

"That's very true."

"You know, if this all works out, I _might_ even find it in my heart to forgive you, seeing as you've been so polite and helpful. And even _I_ like you when you're bringing me a ticket to free cash," Catwoman turned back from the edge to smirk at him. "...You should stay with brain boy, he seems to bring out the best in you." And with that, she dropped off the roof into the city below.

"...Interesting perspective, as usual, Ms. Kyle."

**Crazy Ride**

**Date: Three Days Before Arkham City**

"I came all this way, and the little nerd's not even here!" Joker said, as he walked into Riddler's hideout, about ten of his thugs behind him. Up in the ceiling, Scarecrow was looking down at him from the darkness. He moved slightly so that he was in Joker's view.

"Oh, Scarecrow! I thought I'd heard you were still around! What are you doing here?"

Scarecrow leapt down from the ceiling and sat down in a large, green chair with a question mark sewn onto the back, located in the center of the room, almost like some sort of throne. He picked up the green bowler hat that was hung on the wing of the chair and placed it on his unmasked head with a smirk. "Filling in."

Joker laughed. "Did you finally off old Eddie, then? He's been asking for it for a while, I know. I'd ask for the hat, but you seem to have called dibs."

"Is there something you needed?"

"Well, as I said before, I _needed_ to talk to the Riddler."

"Well, as _I _said before, right now, I'm filling in."

Joker looked at him for a moment, putting a hand on his hips. "Really now, Scarecrow, what are you? His Harley or something? Taking messages like some sort of secretary?"

Scarecrow seemed rather unfazed by the implication, but looked down at himself. "I hope not. She always seems rather... undignified."

"I don't think she'd appreciate that, doctor. Especially coming from a guy who runs around in burlap sacks. ...Still, you know what I really mean. Look, I know how it is. A deranged inmate, a corrupt psychiatrist, a few long, in-depth conversations in an Asylum. It's a recipe for romance, at least in my experience."

"I believe you may be doing what we in the psychological community call 'projection.'"

"Are you still part of that, by the way? Harley said she got thrown out when she lost her mind and became a supervillain."

"Harley was never _part_ of the psychological community. And this is coming from the man who hired her."

Joker laughed. "Wow, Doc, I never knew you had just a talent for petty insults. Seems like Eddie's been rubbing off on you."

"I'm fairly certain that my penchant for harsh honesty is anything but new."

"Hmm...maybe you're right. In that case, I could use a dry sense of humor like yours in my little operation. Seeing as you said you weren't particularly attached to your current position, why don't you come with me?" Joker gave him a look that was playful, but in a dangerous way. "Of course, you're going to have to stop insulting Harley. That's my job."

"I assume that's not a request," Scarecrow answered.

"Oh," Joker gave a happy clap. "And you already know my policies! How convenient! You really would make a good employee. Boys? Why don't you help the good doctor back to our base. In the meantime, I'll write Eddie a little note, just in case he's willing to do _anything _to get you back."

Scarecrow lifted up the brim of the hat and looked at the men behind Joker, with a small smirk. The men seemed rather confused, but Scarecrow leapt up from the chair and down into the middle of the group. He looked around at them. "Now!"

Immediately, they all turned back on the Joker and rushed him. As he attempted to defend himself from the surprise attack, Scarecrow climbed, monster like up the back of one of the men, then jumped from his shoulders to land behind Joker, and plunge his needles into Joker's arm, emptying them all at once. The substance was not the usual orange, iridescent fear gas, but instead was a white liquid.

Joker laughed and stumbled forward a bit. "I have to hand it to you, Spooky, you're really the improved model... I don't think Harley could have pulled off something like this." With that, Joker promptly fell over.

"You!" Scarecrow said, taking a small device out of his pocket and tossing it at one of the men. "Put this on Joker!"

The man put the device on Joker's wrist, which began to beat at about the rate of one and a half times per second. "What is it?"

"It's a heart rate monitor, it's to make sure—" Scarecrow's eyes widened and he leapt backward reflexively. At the same moment, Joker sprang up through the ground and put a knife through the thug's heart, causing him to fall to the ground.

"...That didn't happen," Scarecrow finished with a sigh, looking at Joker and then the thug bleeding out on the ground. "Now look what you've done. He'll have a fit when he sees this stain on his carpet."

"That's _your_ fault, Doc. Did you really think those drugs would work on me? Don't you know who I am—" With that, Joker suddenly dropped to the ground again. This time the heart monitor beeped once every other second or so.

"He's out for good," Scarecrow said. "Grab him and follow me."

The remaining goons seemed reluctant. Scarecrow ignored them and began slowly refilling the syringes in his gauntlet, causing the thugs to look at each other for a moment, then quickly follow his orders.

* * *

"What the—?" Joker looked at his surroundings as he woke up. He attempted to move but found he was chained and locked to a chair, on a platform hanging over a room full of electric floor tiles, with Scarecrow standing next to him. "Now, _this_ seems like my kind of party."

He looked around the seemingly empty room. "Bummer that no one turned up. Eddie's not very popular, is he? Then again, he seems more popular with my men than I am."

"Those weren't your men, they were Riddler's."

"Yes, I've realized that. I knew at least a quarter of my guys were. But why did they listen to _you_?"

Scarecrow shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe because I took the green bowler of authority?"

"I _knew_ I wanted the hat," Joker said. "Still, I guess I should have known not to trust people who _wanted_ to go on a mission to talk to the Riddler. Speaking of which, am I going to get to actually do that, by the way? I really _do_ need to have a chat with him."

"That's why you're here."

"Is this how you treat all your guests?"

"All of the ones who are stupid enough to try to kidnap me. Which has just been you, if you're wondering."

Joker tried to work his way free of the restraints. "Are you two into this sort of thing?"

"I suppose you could say that," Scarecrow answered. "Putting frightened people in deathtraps is sort of a common interest."

"So, you two _are_..." at this point Joker seemed to be searching for a word, "dating?"

"You have to go on dates to be dating," Scarecrow answered.

"Friends with benefits, then?"

"You have to be friends for that."

"So I _was_ right," Joker said with a smile. "It _is_ like me and Harley."

Scarecrow was silent, although it was clear he was unamused by the similarities.

Scarecrow's eyes narrowed at the sound of Joker's laughter, which echoed off the metal walls of the deathtrap room. "No counter-argument, doctor? I'm not surprised. I mean, what's the first question you have when you think about me and Harley?"

Scarecrow thought for a moment, his eyes widening in realization. "Why haven't you killed her yet? She's so irritating... That's why you asked me if I'd killed Riddler when you got here."

"Well, actually I was genuinely curious about that one. But you wouldn't have kept his stuff afterward."

"Wow," Joker said, looking down at the restraints. "I _actually_ can't get out of these."

"Riddler's quite good a that sort of thing. Getting out of restraints and escaping from things. I suppose that gives him insight into building these things."

"No offense, doc, but that might have been more information than I wanted to know. Oh, who am I kidding? That's never true for me. And since you brought it up, do you know _why_? Why he's so good at the escaping, I mean. That seems more carney sideshow than nerdy hacker to me."

"No idea."

"You know, seeing as I'm stuck here anyway, I'm just going to come out and say it."

Scarecrow's rather remarkable patience was obviously beginning to wear thin. "Say what?"

"You _really_ don't seem like the type."

"The type for what?"

"Romance, passion, love. All of that nonsense."

"But you think that _you_ do?"

"Well, of course! Doctor, love is crazy, unpredictable, uncontrollable chaos! And regardless of how wildly my feelings for _Harley_ may change from one minute to the next, _love_ is my kind of crazy ride. But you always struck me as the sort to hate that sort of thing. You _love_ order and control, maybe even more than Batbrain does. Maybe more than anyone. But I guess, this world (and even the most boring people in it) can be full of surprises."

Rather suddenly, Scarecrow began to laugh. It wasn't like his normal chuckle or scoff, it was actual _laughter_. And it was creepy as all hell. It made Joker's laugh sound almost normal by comparison as it echoed off the metal walls, surrounding them.

"Wow, Spooky, I've got to hand it to you," Joker said, obviously a bit impressed. "That's one hell of a laugh you've got there. I do _have_ to know though, what could possibly be funny enough to make _you_ laugh. I do hope it was something I said."

"Do you really see it that way?" Scarecrow asked.

"I don't think there's any other way to see it. Seriously, have you killed any puppies with that laugh recently?"

"You know that's not what I mean."

"Oh, well, the statement can also apply to love. Which can also, incidentally, kill puppies. That's what I got Harley last Valentine's Day: dead puppies. A whole sack of them."

"Then it _was _something you said. Because that's the single most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. Relationships, love, whatever you want to call them. They're about order. Every relationship has rules and boundaries which both people have to stay within or the whole system comes crashing down. Edward and I have them, and so do you and Harley."

"Now _that_ is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard. 'All's fair in love and war,' doctor, everyone knows that."

"No, it isn't. That's romanticism. It's a lie. Look at Edward and I. I can do all sorts of things to him, which if anyone else tried... well, that's what these are for." Scarecrow gestured to the deathtrap around them.

"Look, maybe you and Eddie boy have rules. But that's because of you. That's not how things usually are."

"Really? Then why did you tell me that if I came to work for you, I couldn't insult Harley anymore? It sounds like an expectation. An agreement, of sorts. You get to insult her, but no one else does. That's the trade-off. Relationships are all about trade-offs, checks and balances, order. If you tell me more about the two of you, I'm sure I could find more."

And for the first time since they'd met, it seemed that the Master of Fear had managed to frighten the Joker.

**Melting**

**Date: One Day Before _Arkham City_**

"I've installed the security program into your freeze ray, it should function exactly as I described in the design. Tell me if there is a problem." Riddler took a step back from the table where he had been working on the gun.

"Thank you, Edward Nigma," Mr. Freeze answered. "I wanted to make sure that, in case there are complications, I retain the ability to override my freeze ray, and your security programs are better than mine. Besides, I did not have the time to create one, given what I have been working on. You still owe me for that work, this security program is simple in comparison."

"So, everything is done, then?" Riddler pulled his large, green fur-lined coat closer to his body, as he looked over at Mr. Freeze, shivering.

"Yes. I was able to design the enzyme based on Dr. Crane's notes, and it should bind with the Lazarus chemical, if the theoretical models you and Dr. Crane came up with are anywhere near it's actual structure," Mr. Freeze answered.

"Good. Well, then, I guess we're done here," Riddler answered, clearly ready to leave.

"I also have things arranged, in case your plan fails to produce the desired results."

"What do you mean?" Riddler asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Dr. Crane advised me to be prepared to cyrogenically freeze you, should the Lazarus fail to cure your illness, or should you fail to reach the Lazarus Pit in the first place. According to Dr. Elliot, you don't have much time before the damage from the cancer will begin to interfere with your brain function."

"Y-Yes, of course. T-That makes sense." It was clear that the Riddler was confused, which was far from a normal state for him.

"You are lying to me, Edward Nigma?" Mr. Freeze asked, the sound of his monotone voice caused the Riddler to flinch. "According to my suit, your heart race has increased, as is consistent with deception."

"My heart rate doesn't increase when I lie. I learned to control that years ago," Riddler answered.

"Then there is another reason? Were you surprised by what I told you? Was Dr. Crane not transmitting a message from you?"

"I-I... Why do you care?"

"Then that _is_ what you want? You want to be frozen if you do not succeed in curing your cancer?"

"Y-Yes. I guess so. Good. But then what?"

"What do you mean?"

"After you freeze me. Then what happens?"

"Dr. Crane and I will attempt to cure you, in exchange for his help with my cure for my wife."

"I see. Yes, that makes sense."

"You did not know about Dr. Crane's plan before now?" Mr. Freeze asked.

"Of course I did! It was my plan! Anyway, if that's all, I'll be going."

"Very well, Edward Nigma."

Riddler walked out of the lab, but stopped when he heard Mr. Freeze's voice again.

"In all likelihood, they will end up the same, Nora, just like us. But perhaps some good will come of it. Dr. Crane is a brilliant chemist, surely his expertise will allow me to finally bring you back to me."

Riddler's eyes widened and he blinked a few times. He looked up at the men he had brought with him to protect him. "Go wait outside with Jo—" He winced. "Scarecrow. I need to talk to Freeze again."

"B-But boss..." One of them started.

"Are you talking back to me, cretin? I didn't hire you for your opinions! Go!"

The thug seemed to regret his decision to attempt to show concern for the Riddler's well-being, and turned to leave with the others.

Riddler walked back into the lab. "Don't do it."

"What are you talking about?" Mr. Freeze turned to look at him, it was unclear if he was annoyed that Riddler had stayed (and presumably overheard him).

"Don't freeze me. If this doesn't work, that is. I-I don't want that."

"You will die. It will not be pleasant. You will lose the thing you care about the most. Your brain will be destroyed as the cancer eats away at it: your beloved intellect will not survive. Why would you choose that?"

"I-I.."

"Is there something you care about more than losing your intellect?"

"I don't know."

"Well then, perhaps, you should decide. Do you want me to freeze you or not?"

"I-I... yes, I do. But you can't do it. No matter what I tell you from now on. You can't do it. Lie to me and tell me that you will, if you have to. Fake it and just kill me! I don't care, but you can't do it!"

"Why?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes. I will have to deal with Dr. Crane's wrath, if I do not comply. I am prepared to do that, but not without a very good reason. Additionally, Dr. Crane is willing to do this. I do not understand why you would want to stop him."

"I-I... I don't want him to end up like you."

"That was rather blunt. However, I suppose that was to be expected." Mr. Freeze was silent for a moment. "I am not any more miserable than I would be had Nora simply died. In fact, that she may be brought back is the only thing I have that resembles hope. You will take that from him."

"You're wrong. You were always like this! I've read your files! You were researching the disease before she even contracted it!" Riddler seemed almost frantic as he attempted to explain. "This is different! If you freeze me, then Jon will be like you. He'll be obsessed with curing me. Not psychology or fear or any of his other stupid hobbies! He... won't be the same person. He won't be..."

"The person you fell in love with?" Mr. Freeze suggested, finally understanding.

"...Please, just whatever you do, don't do this." Riddler was silent for a moment, regaining some of his normal demeanor. "I'm a narcissistic coward. So, I might tell you later that I've changed my mind. But don't listen to me. It just means that my intellect has been weakened by the cancer, and I can't overcome my base, primitive feelings anymore. That's not me, and it's not what I want. Because after that, even if you bring me back and cure me completely, I'll never be able to forgive myself for doing something like that to him. And there's no point in being alive if I can't love myself anymore."

Mr. Freeze looked at him for a moment, clearly somewhat shocked by the conversation they had just had. "Very well, Edward Nigma. You have my word. On one condition."

"And what is that?"

"You have to tell Dr. Crane yourself. Find a way to do it. If you think he'll be upset if you do it now, make some sort of recording on a computer. That is your preferred method of communication from what I understand anyway."

Riddler sighed, seemingly annoyed, although it was clear he was quite relieved. "Fine, I'll find a way. ...And I'll tell him to help you, anyway."

"What?"

"With your wife. Not all the time, obviously. Just when he's not busy with research of his own."

"You do not have to—"

"Don't be stupid. You need all the help you can get. And besides, I owe you."

"That is not—"

"For the enzyme, remember? Don't tell me you've forgotten that already? We were just talking about it. That's something one of my monkeys would do."

"Yes, right, of course."

**Truce**

**Date: Six Months After _Arkham City_**

"This had better be important!" Riddler said the words into his microphone at exactly the same time that Oracle said them over the speaker.

"Don't act offended! _You're_ the one who's been buying large scale industrial cutting equipment under a variety of assumed, yet obvious, names. Let me guess: more deathtraps?" Oracle continued.

"I guess I have to hand it to you. I didn't expect you would put those pieces together until at least tomorrow morning," he sounded more annoyed than impressed, but it was clear that he was at least moderately intrigued by being surprised. Riddler looked over at Scarecrow, who was dressed in a brown, wool, three-piece suit and standing behind him putting on a tie. Scarecrow simply gave him a bemused look. "Well, I didn't!"

Scarecrow sighed and waved his hand, indicating that he had received the excuse, processed it, found it wanting, but really didn't want Riddler to say any more.

"Who are you talking to?" Oracle asked. "Accomplices?"

"Who do _you_ think I'm talking to? Shouldn't you already know? Isn't that what you do? Spy on people from your giant computer base?"

"Well, you would know about that, wouldn't you? That's _all_ you do."

"I assure you, I do much more than that. ...Although, I suppose you would too, if you could still walk."

"I don't need to walk to kick your scrawny ass. You're welcome to come over here and find that out yourself, that is, if you can find me."

Riddler was silent and Scarecrow gave a loud, annoyed sigh. "Yes, I know, Edward. You don't know where Oracle's headquarters are, and it annoys you. That was true yesterday, and it will still be true tomorrow. Can't we just go? We're already late."

"What?" Oracle asked. "No response? Fine then, I guess I'll just have to come to you."

"Good luck! You'll never find me first! As we speak, the new homing virus I engineered is working its way through your entire system. The tip you got about the cutting equipment? Just a diversion. That message had a virus attached to it. As soon as you opened it, your system became infected. I'll know your precise location within the hour!"

"Good thing I didn't actually _open_ that email, then," Oracle answered.

"B-But you—!"

"I thought the tip seemed a little too good to be true, so I thought I'd contact you, _pretending_ I'd opened it, in hopes that something like this would happen."

"Why you—! You cheated!"

"You really think so? Or is that just what you say whenever you're outsmarted?"

"That's it, little girl! You'll be sorry you ever dared to challenge the Riddler!"

"Thank you for the email address, though, the one you sent the tip from. I wonder what it is. Just one of yours? An employees? Actually a contact for a supplier that you hacked into? Let's find out, shall we?"

"Stop that! You nosy, little... you won't find it so simple to get past my defenses!" Riddler began to type rather furiously.

Scarecrow looked at his watch and sighed. "And there it goes. Our reservation time, that is. Well, I'm going out, then."

"Not now, Jon!"

Scarecrow walked into another room and came back out a few moments later, the brown suit replaced by his normal burlap costume.

"So, I have no idea when I'll be back!" Scarecrow said. "Maybe I'll visit Ra's al Ghul, tell him about that incident with the Pit. He really has every right to know. And I'm sure he won't be _that_ angry about it. It's been months, after all."

"Yes, that's nice, Jon. I'm in the middle of something." Riddler uncovered his microphone again. "Ha! Just try to get through that! You'll never—!"

"I'm already in!" Oracle said.

"Impossible!"

"You're slipping, Riddler! Are you upset? You shouldn't be, it was bound to happen, at your age and all."

Scarecrow put on his mask as he rolled his eyes at their banter. He caught a glimpse of one of his spare syringes as he did so. He took it out and dropped it to the floor, where it shattered against the stone.

"Shit!" He said, in a voice that sounded genuine, but was loud enough to be heard. "Edward, that was a bottle of my most recent formula that I've just weaponized. It's highly concentrated. Don't breath."

Riddler hadn't even turned away from the computer, and Scarecrow's eyes narrowed as he looked at him. He looked at the actual containers of weaponized fear toxin on his arm, then back at Riddler for a moment, before shaking his head. He then looked down at the ground, realizing that he had broken a glass syringe right next to his bare feet, and sighed.

"I'll be done in a minute, Jon!"

"Of course, Edward." He bent down to pick them all up carefully, and threw them away before he sat down on the sofa to wrap his feet in cloth before leaving.

"W-What? What is this? What's happening?" Oracle's voice came over the speakers once again. She did not sound happy.

"Oh, you mean your reward for falling into my trap?"

"You _meant_ for me to make it into that account?"

"Of course I did, you said it yourself, it was too good to be true."

"What have you done to my system, you little freak?"

"Oh, are you noticing a slowed response time? That's perfectly normal. This virus will eat through your system, cutting your processing time in half! Still think you can win?"

"Against a dirty old man like you? No doubt in my mind!"

"A—why you! Why is it so hard for you to just admit that I'm better than you? It's obvious! Your system is so addled now, I'm sure it can barely sustain a tracking program, let alone let you try to get through my defenses! Why don't you just give up?"

"You should know by now that I don't do that."

"Have it your way. Because now that I know you've made it into the account, and since I know you can't really defend yourself, I'll take this opportunity to—what? What have you done?"

"You like it? I made it just for you. I knew you would try to attack me if I fell into a trap like this. So I armed a counter-attack long ago. It's meant to recognize any virus or similar strain of code, and send it back to the next computer that tries to establish a link with my system."

"You really think you can stop me with my own virus?"

"You didn't make anything to counter it. I know you. You'll have to weed it out of your system manually."

"Well, so will you. And I know everything about this virus! I made it! There's no way you'll do it faster than me!"

"Luckily, I have a skill that you lack: patience. You'll get frustrated with your slow system long before I will. You'll get distracted."

"I will not! It sounds like we're both going to be here all night! I mean you could leave, but then I'd find your hideout. So, I hope you didn't have any plans!"

Scarecrow looked over at him, shaking his head. "That's it." With that, Scarecrow walked out the door.

"Besides shutting down your twisted information network once and for all, you mean? Why? Did you?" Oracle asked.

"I thought you would know the answer to that already. You've really been falling down on the invasion of privacy that you're so famous for, Oracle."

"I could say the same to you, Nigma. But if you must know, I intend to finish with you quickly. I have a date tonight."

"What? Are you taunting me? Did you somehow know?"

"What are you talking about? Wait. No way! There's no way that _you _were going on a date."

"Excuse me? You're the one who shouldn't have a love life. You can barely move!"

When Oracle responded, there was an underlying uncertainty in her voice, although it eventually faded out as she spoke. "And _you're_ quite possibly the least likable person on the planet! I'm going to assume this is some sort of internet deal. With someone who's never heard your voice. Don't tell me the League of Doom is running a dating service now? Word of advice: don't talk about yourself. Actually, it's probably best if you don't talk at all."

Riddler let out a sound that almost sounded like a low, annoyed growl. "...Oh very funny, Oracle." He was silent for a moment. "...Although, a League of Doom dating service does sound incredibly profitable. Thank you for the idea."

"You're welcome. Have fun coding the compatibility algorithm with a pen and paper while your system stabilizes."

Oracle took a deep breath. "Fine. I guess I'll just have to figure it out myself. Shouldn't be hard. It must be another super-criminal, you wouldn't be seen with anything else. And it's someone from Gotham, I haven't heard any reports of other criminals coming in recently. If your obsession with your appearance is any gauge, you're incredibly shallow and concerned with appearances, but the only thing you really respect is intellect. It would have to be someone smart, functional, well dressed and in decent shape. That leaves us with Poison Ivy, Hush, Talia al Ghul, Scarecrow, and Harvey Dent.

"If Ivy had mind-controlled you, you wouldn't be talking, it's not her. Talia would sooner kill you than date you. It's hard to believe you have the social skills to be in a relationship with one person, let alone two, so Dent's out. From what I know, Hush is interested in women, on the other hand, I _also_ know that Dr. Elliot is rather skilled at keeping secrets. Still, no one who was trying to be subtle would go out with _you_. That leaves Scarecrow. Am I right?"

"T-That's hardly your business!"

"I'm right! It _is_ Scarecrow!"

"What are you talking about? I haven't said anything!"

"I know you, Riddler. If I'd gotten wrong, you'd be insulting and correcting me. Your silence speaks volumes. And it's much more pleasant than your normal voice, too."

"Well, I suppose I should congratulate you on a job well done. Although you're a bit late on the uptake for me to be impressed with your deduction. We've been together for over a year now."

"I knew it!" Oracle said. "Batman said I was imaging things and that you were only accomplices, but it was _so_ obvious! He probably just didn't want to see it."

"But you—!"

"Acted like I didn't know? Remember what I said about you correcting me whenever I'm wrong? It really is the _best_ way to get information out of you."

"...This is the last time I open a comm channel with you."

"Are you trying to threaten me by telling me I might not have to listen to you talk anymore? I hate to tell you, it's not particularly effective. Besides, you'd never hold to it anyway. Hey! Nightwing! I was right! I told you! Who has apophenia now?...Nightwing? Nightwing?...Damn."

"Well, it looks like your boyfriend has _walked_ out on you. Rather insensitive, given your situation wouldn't you agree? Jon, this is hilarious! Jon! Where are you? Jon!... Well, I suppose I asked for that."

"Oh, Scarecrow's gone? Makes sense. I assume he only stuck around before because of the cancer."

"Why you—! That's it! When I find you—!"

"You'll what? Riddle me to death?"

"You know, I've never seen someone try to get out of one of my deathtraps without the use of their legs. I doubt it would be possible... although it would certainly be amusing."

"Question: how is a raven like a writing desk?"

The Riddler's eyes narrowed and he folded his arms at the mention of the world's most famous unanswerable riddle.

"Answer: They're both things Jonathan Crane seems to prefer to your company!"

"Th-That's not true!" Riddler almost sounded a bit insecure at this point.

"Then where is he? I thought you said that you two had a date."

"I recall you saying the same. But your bird seems to have flown off as well."

Oracle was silent for a long moment, when she spoke, her voice was calm. "...You're right. Truce? Twenty-four hours?"

"But! Both of our systems will be back up by then! There's no way to know who won!" Riddler was all but whining.

"Yes, I know, but if we stay here, we both lose."

"...Your logic is irrefutable." It was clear these were not words Riddler enjoyed saying, and he spoke them like a petulant child.

"Wow, that almost sounded like a compliment. You know, except for the way you said it."

"Well, don't get used to it. You're a good opponent, but you're not on my level."

"Don't push it, Nigma."

"So, we're agreed then. Twenty-four hours, to the nanosecond, starting in 3... 2...1...Now." Riddler clicked a few times and the speakers shut off as the comm link was terminated. He looked at the computer for a second, as if considering breaking the agreement for a moment, but instead minimized the window of code he'd had in the center of his screen.

* * *

"Hold it, Scarecrow! Your evil stops here!"

Scarecrow sighed as he watched the murder of crows he'd been feeding fly away, the one he'd been petting seemed to consider staying for a moment, but soon took off to follow the rest. He was holding his mask in his hand, allowing him to give Nightwing a rather bemused look as he turned around to face him.

"I realize that playing with wild birds violates a city ordinance, but I think 'evil' is a bit strong. Unless you're suggesting we send Mary Poppins an invitation to the League."

Nightwing narrowed his eyes. "So, you're saying that you were lurking on this roof, dressed as the Scarecrow, just to pet some crows? Not waiting to experiment on unsuspecting citizens? Or planning poison the populace with fear?"

Scarecrow winced at the alliteration, before his bored expression returned. He looked at Nightwing for a moment, before his eyes widened slightly in realization. "You _really _want something to do, don't you?"

"What are you talking about? I'm protecting Gotham from your hallucinogenic horrors!"

"No alliterations, tonight, if you don't mind. No puns either. I'm actively trying _not_ to think about wordplay at the moment. And do _you_ see any 'hallucinogenic horrors?' No, you don't. Now, don't you think, _if_ that was what I was up to, you'd probably be seeing them right about now? You're not wearing a gas mask. Which is all the more proof that you didn't come out here for me, you'd have brought one if you had. Besides, I'm not even wearing my mask. Do you really expect me to believe that the police sent _Nightwing_ to respond to a report about a small, bookish looking man petting crows on a rooftop?"

"I-I was out on patrol."

The look on Scarecrow's face became one of outright condescension. "At this hour? There's not exactly a great volume of evil afoot. It's 8:30: even _Batman's _not out yet."

Nightwing didn't seem to have a counter to that one.

"I don't have to answer your questions, you sadistic psychiatrist!"

Scarecrow sighed. "I did ask nicely about the alliterations, but if you do that again I may not be able to stop myself from attacking you. And I don't feel like fighting you tonight, Darkwing."

"...It's Nightwing."

The look Scarecrow gave him in response in implied that it was impossible for him to care less. "Yes, of course."

Nightwing was obviously a bit unsettled by the rather unusual nature of their interaction, but he he seemed determined to continue with his crime fighting. "Now! Tell me what you're really up to!"

"The exact same thing that _you're_ up to: trying to find something to do with my evening. Now tell me, what sort of plans did _you _originally have?"

"I didn't have any other plans."

Scarecrow gave him yet another condescending look. "So, you're telling me that you came all the way to Gotham from Blüdhaven just to go out on patrol, by yourself, at 8:30, when no real crimes had even been reported yet?"

"...Okay, fine. I had other plans!"

"As did I. I believe it is now rather obvious that you and I are in _exactly_ the same boat. When did you leave? The last thing I heard was them talking about how they had nothing better to do with their evenings than engineer viruses and insults to throw at one another."

"Yeah, that was when I left too—Woah! Wait! Hold on! You and Riddler are _dating_?"

"Yes?" Scarecrow seemed a bit confused by the question. "...Don't tell me you didn't know. I really thought you people were better informed than that. Batman knows the name of every psychiatrist I've ever had at Arkham, but he doesn't know that I've been in a relationship with another super-criminal for over a year? Does someone have to become Harley Quinn to get through to you people? What did you _think _was happening?"

"I don't know! That you were accomplices?"

"We are. But we're also dating."

"Damn... Oracle was right. She's always right."

"I know that feeling. ...Not about things like this though, Edward is never right about things like this." Scarecrow thought for a moment. "You know, I've changed my mind about that fight. I'll make you a deal, I'll put down my needles if you put down those nasty looking sticks of yours. We both fight completely unarmed."

"You're suggesting we spar?"

"Oh no. A real fight. If you win, you take me to Arkham, if I win, I shoot you up with fear toxin." The smirk Scarecrow gave him at the suggestion was a bit unnerving.

"You've got to be kidding!"

"Do we have anything better to do? Besides, you wanted to put a stop to my evil. Isn't this what you were planning for? I'm handicapping myself by putting the fear toxin down, you _don't_ have a gas mask, after all."

"Alright, then. Let's do it."

Scarecrow removed his injector gauntlet and placed it on the ground, on top of his mask, next to his scythe. Nightwing removed his utility belt and placed it on the ground with his taser sticks. Both men then assumed fighting stances for a moment, before Nightwing rushed Scarecrow.

Scarecrow's leapt to the side, almost hopping in a dance-like motion, bringing his feet back together when he landed, before spreading them out again, as he turned sharply to face Nightwing.

"It really is remarkable," Scarecrow said, as he and Nightwing exchanged a series of strikes. "How much not getting the proper support from one's father can affect a person."

"I know," Nightwing answered, as he jumped up and flipped over Scarecrow's head to land behind him. Scarecrow's head turned first, followed by his body, to face him as he landed, allowing him to block Nightwing's kick. "It's like she's always trying to prove herself."

As Nightwing punched him again, instead of a conventional block, Scarecrow grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward, as Scarecrow moved by him on his right, so they had effectively changed placed. The move clearly confused Nightwing for a moment, allowing Scarecrow to kick him squarely in the back.

"And it doesn't matter how brilliant or talented the person is. Because it's not about success, it's about approval."

Scarecrow's kick propelled Nightwing up, and he flipped in mid-air, allowing him to land on his feet, facing Scarecrow again.

"Oracle is probably," Nightwing did a series of acrobatic moves to make his way back to Scarecrow's location, to exchange another volley of attacks with him. "The smartest, most talented, and most determined person I've ever met. She's almost like another Batman! And I know her father's just worried about her, but he needs to accept that she's made her decision and be a little more supportive."

Nightwing pulled back and attempted to flip over Scarecrow's head again, and he made a series of leaps backwards, bringing his feet together for a brief moment with each jump. "And all the attention in the world doesn't fix the problem, if it doesn't come from the right source. All anyone else can ultimately do is provide a distraction."

"Still, I guess it's better than not doing anything at all." Nightwing did a series of flips and handsprings to follow Scarecrow, throwing a kick once he reached him. Scarecrow dodged it by leaping up into the air, then used Nightwing's extended leg as a platform to jump up and over his head.

As he landed, Nightwing smirked and retracted his leg, before shooting the kick out behind him, sending Scarecrow back toward the scaffolding of a water tower. "I always thought that people with biological parents had it easy. But nothing's really easy, is it?"

"That's not the world we live in." Scarecrow caught hold of the scaffolding and scurried up it as quickly as he could. By the time Nightwing turned around to look at him, he was no longer in Nightwing's direct line of sight. Nightwing assumed his fighting stance and looked around for him, only thinking to look up at the moment that Scarecrow dropped down on him.

He did a back-handspring out of the way as Scarecrow landed on all fours, limbs bent like something out of a horror film. He immediately sprang up toward Nightwing again, who had frozen for a moment at the abrupt change in the fighting style from dance and classical Chinese martial arts, to something that seemed near demonic, reacted just in time to block the series of strikes Scarecrow sent his way.

"And the worst part is, she never even talks about it! I mean, her dad isn't terrible or anything, but it's obvious she just wants him to believe in her. Not that's she'll ever even _admit _there's a problem."

"Of course not. Talking about it makes it real. It makes the failure real. And that failure becoming a reality is the ultimate source of fear. Then again, without talking about it, there's no way to work through the problem."

Scarecrow blocked Nightwing's counterstrike by moving past him again, but this time Nightwing was ready, and attempted to elbow Scarecrow as he passed by. It hit, however, Scarecrow held his footing, and grabbed Nightwing's arm using it to push Nightwing forward, attempting to throw him off balance. Nightwing responded with a one-handed handspring forward twisting as he did so, to land facing Scarecrow. "So, you're saying I should talk to her about it?"

"I said no such thing. Do whatever you like." It seemed as if it may have been the first time Scarecrow noticed that Nightwing was really listening to what he had to say, and assuming it was meant for him.

Nightwing jumped and flipped forward, making the final jump high so he was above Scarecrow to kick him. Scarecrow slid under him while he was still airborne getting in another kick as Nightwing landed.

"Two all," Scarecrow said, in reference to the number of hits both of them had gotten. "I assume we go to five?"

"Works for me... But is that what you think I _should _do? You're the shrink, after all." Nightwing dropped low and swept Scarecrow's legs out from under him, catching him with a punch to the chest as he did so. "3-2."

Scarecrow pulled his feet up under him before Nightwing could hit him again, and leapt forward. "You're not exactly paying me for advice, you know."

Nightwing stepped to the side and hit him on the back with an elbow strike. "4-2. How about this? You tell me what I should do if I win? Instead of a trip to Arkham."

Scarecrow caught himself with his hands and sprang back up. "And if I win, I still get to fear gas you?"

"Now, that," Nightwing said, blocking his attacks. "Doesn't sound very amicable."

"I'm not known as a very amicable man." Scarecrow grabbed Nightwing by the arm as he blocked a strike and pulled him around in almost a spin. "However, I suppose, in the spirit of commiseration, I'll agree. If I win, you don't tell Batman about Edward and I. I'd really like him to find out on his own."

"...Fine."

"And your girlfriend, get her to agree."

"Deal."

"Excellent." Scarecrow immediately leapt forward feigning a punch to the head and kicked out Nightwing's knee as he went to block. As Nightwing folded, Scarecrow got in a palm to the jaw, before leaping out the way as Nightwing regained his footing. "Four all."

Nightwing jumped back himself into a backflip to put more distance between them. "Damn... I always forget that you incorporated Drunken Master into your style as well."

"That was rather obvious, that really wasn't my best bluff."

"Well, you'll have to step up your game, because you're not getting anymore free shots."

"Very well, then."

Scarecrow began to leap forward when suddenly he heard a voice in his ear. "Where the hell are you? Get back here!"

At the same moment, Nightwing was hearing the exact same words over his communicator.

Both men stopped, looked at one another to make sure they weren't going to be attacked before exchanging knowing looks. "I told you I was leaving!" Nightwing said. "Three times!"

"But we have a date!" The synchronization was almost uncanny, luckily, neither man realized the other was hearing exactly the same words.

"We _had _a date, Edward. We missed our reservation over an hour ago," Scarecrow said.

"Okay, okay, I'm on my way! Sorry!" Nightwing answered.

"I'm sorry too," Oracle said. "I shouldn't have gotten so wrapped up in that."

"I can get a new one!" Riddler argued. "Just get back here and change into something acceptable so we can go somewhere!"

Scarecrow sighed. "Very well, Edward."

Nightwing and Scarecrow looked at each other. "Should we finish?" Nightwing suggested. "We're almost done."

Scarecrow thought about it for a moment. "It's not worth the risk. I don't need him in a worse mood. If you try to talk to her about it, she'll probably get mad. It will probably help though. Seeing as Oracle doesn't seem like the type to respond to being upset by stringing people up in deathtraps, you should probably give it a try. But don't act like you know exactly what's going on, or try to sympathize, that will probably just piss her off. There, I assume that's what you wanted?"

"Yeah, thanks," Nightwing seemed rather surprised. "...I won't tell Batman."

Scarecrow seemed even more surprised.

Nightwing smirked a bit. "The World's Greatest Detective should really be able to find out for himself."

**Plans**

**Date: Four Years After _Arkham City_**

"Hold on, Nigma. We need to talk." Batman grabbed Riddler firmly by the shoulder stopping him from walking into the medical ward. Through the glass, they could both see an injured Jonathan Crane lying on a hospital bed, his left leg in a cast, and a few other bandages that were not thick enough to indicate more than minor injury.

"It's my _right_ to see him!" Riddler answered, obviously annoyed. "Regardless of your opinion, Dark Knight!"

Riddler slipped out of his grasp, for a moment, before Batman caught him again. "I'm aware of that. This isn't an interrogation."

"He's hurt! I want to see him!"

"It's a broken leg, it will heal. This won't take long."

Riddler seemed to realize that he wasn't getting out of this and sighed, and folded his arms petulantly. "Fine. What do you want?"

"I want to know how much longer you intend to keep doing this."

"What are you talking about? You foiled our plan, as usual, my intentions seem rather irrelevant."

"You know what I mean, Nigma. He can't keep doing this forever. Neither of you can."

"You said yourself it was just a broken leg. It will heal."

"A broken leg he wouldn't have gotten trying to pull the same stunt two years ago. And one that wouldn't have healed as slowly then either."

"So, you're what? Concerned? Sorry if I don't buy it. The broken bones send a mixed message."

"Crane's over forty, and if your school records are accurate, you're not too far behind him."

Riddler scoffed. "Are you saying we should retire?"

"I'm saying that next time, it could be a lot worse than a broken leg. Is it really worth it for both of you to keep doing this?"

"I don't remember soliciting your advice about my life decisions."

"Damnit, Nigma! You know I'm right! You're not an an idiot! Stop trying to be stubborn for it's own sake and listen for once in your life! You have plenty of money, a lot of it legal, stuff that no one could take from you. If you wanted to reform, it would be easy. Crane is one of the most brilliant psychiatrists in the world! And... as much as I don't like it, even if you didn't, there are plenty of places the two of you could go and get away with whatever you wanted. Hell, there are governments out there that would gladly hire you."

Riddler's eyes narrowed for a moment, as he looked at Batman, and then he suddenly smirked. "You want us to leave Gotham. This isn't about _our_ well-being. It's about Gotham's. Of course."

"It's about both. I still have a good ten years before I have to worry about not being able to watch over Gotham, and believe me, by then I don't intend to _need_ to do so. Can you say the same? What about Crane? Can both of you fight as hard as you have been for the last decade? Because I will. In fact, I'll be fighting harder.

"I'm pushing back against the crime in this city while I still can. You've noticed it, I'm sure. Your information network contracting, your suppliers dwindling. Gotham will be clean before I have to take off this suit, I guarantee that. It won't be Central City, but it won't be Blüdhaven either. So, either find a way to live in the new Gotham, or go somewhere else. Because if you don't I will continue to fight you as relentlessly as I ever have, maybe harder, and if you can't keep up, there's no way to know what will happen."

"And you don't want our deaths on your conscience?" Riddler asked.

"Now that we've had this little chat, they won't _be _on my conscience. They'll be on yours. And I at least want to make sure you could live with that. With Crane's death hanging over you. Because I really don't want to deal with the version of you that can't."

"Why tell me all of this? Jon's the one who—!"

"Your money, your information, your plans. Crane wants research. You're the one who sees the bigger picture. That means you're the one who makes decisions."

"You know I can't actually control him. That's not how it works."

"Then you'll have to convince him."

"That might not be easy. Jon is the only person in the world who actually _likes_ this place. Even you, with all your commitment to protecting it, don't actually _like_ it. At least not the way it is now."

"That probably means he'll like it just about anywhere."

"...You might have a point."

"You know I'm right, Nigma. If I know you, and I do, you're already thinking about leaving. You've run simulations, I'm sure. How long until Crane sustains an injury he doesn't recover from? On average? A year? Two? Five? I'm sure you have a number for it."

Riddler was silent, turning to look back at Crane in the hospital bed through the glass wall.

"Is this a sight you want to get used to seeing?" Batman asked. "Or what if it's worse? Are you willing to go back to how things used to be? Would you be able to? When the best thing in your life was leaving clues for me to follow if I had the time? Or hiding stupid trophies you knew I didn't care about? Think about it. Remember that there was a time that wasn't your job: it was your life. Think about whether or not you're willing to take the chance of going back to living that way. And make a decision about what you want to do."

Riddler's eyes widened a bit as he understood the full implication of what Batman was saying to him. He looked visibly afraid. When he spoke again, Riddler's voice was no longer smug, although it was clear he was attempting to maintain his normal demeanor. "W-Why are you having this conversation with me? You know I can't really—"

"Because I know he'll listen to you. And I know _you_ will listen to me."

"Because I'm smarter?" Riddler asked.

Batman seemed to almost laugh, as much as Batman ever did (which was really more of a scoff). "No. Because you scare easier."

Riddler turned around to refute the point, but Batman was already gone.

**A/N: **Okay, that's it. I know this probably isn't what you were expecting. Honestly, I personally feel like most of the other characters don't have time to care, and wouldn't if they did. Except Mr. Freeze. He cares if people are in love. I actually used Joker, I'm surprised. Crane got one over on him. He got a few over on him, actually. I like that. I hate the sort of "Joker always wins" bullshit that's been going around recently. He didn't used to be an unbeatable god monster, and I liked him more when he was on the same level of everyone else. That's what I liked about _City_.

Again, I might do more of these, but I pretty much did everyone I wanted to. Except maybe Harley. Let me know what you think (or if there's anyone else you want), I know they're different. I sort of implied that Catwoman has some sort of past issue with Scarecrow, but that's because I feel like the events of _Long Halloween_ are background for the game, so I assume that she does. I also want to write the story where Batman finds out, Crane seems to think that will be fun somehow. He's probably right?

Also, I don't really know what I'm implying at the end, I realized. Are they married? Gotham is in a generic New England state, they can probably do that? Although I'd totally buy that whatever New England state they lived in would legalize gay marriage and _Gotham_ would outlaw it within city bounds, not even because the population is particularly against it, but just to be dicks, because that's what Gotham is all about. Edward seems to think he has a right to see Jonathan because he's injured, even though he's presumably just committed a crime. I could see Edward wanting to get married for that reason, just so he could bitch about having rights to do things, and manipulate the various legal advantages marriage would grant them. I almost view them having a more pre-20th century view of marriage, ie: looking at it as something that has financial/legal advantages vs. an expression of love. That's probably why I didn't even realize I might have implied that until right now. But yes, if you were wondering if that was what was going on, the answer is maybe.

**Extremebabymakeover:** Thanks for being so thorough. I have been meaning to write you a PM to respond to part of your review (the more personal aspects), but I am glad this says something to you (I've been really swamped, so wait for it). But to the story aspects, I'm glad that you're enjoying it, and that you are willing to wait. Again I keep saying the next wait shouldn't be so long, and that keeps not being the case. And I'm going to be traveling for the next month, so I won't make those promises anymore. And yes, I understand the conflicting feelings over Edward. Honestly, that's why I love him so much as a character. He makes me _feel_ things. Real things, for a fictional character. Be it hatred, pity or irritation (usually the latter), he's just _so_ well made. That's what I love about him. He's also really fun to write.

**XXTwistedPrincessXx:** Again, thanks for being such a thorough reviewer, it means a lot to me. I've done as you asked and given a variety of options. I hope they weren't too different from what you were expecting. I really do love other people, too, I just sort of got hit with inspiration for Crane and Nigma first, so that's what I've been doing. This chapter was fun, because I got to put other people in it. Also, I'm glad you like this idea for Scarecrow. That's always what I thought he was up to. It's so brilliant, yet complicated and elitist of him. And it maintains the control. I'll say, if I write something else set more than a year or two in the future, I may reference whether or not the lie held up over time (my bet is, it didn't, because they're villains and even their best schemes always fail eventually). Also, yeah, normal sex is the general consensus for the next smut (if/when it happens) so I think that's what it will be.

**Panda: **Thank you for your compliments. And it's not in the Arkham Asylum section because I'm an idiot. I didn't realize that was a section at first, and now it's here, and I can't really move it.

**Adelita Latigazo:** Thank you for the thorough review! Also, I'm glad you enjoyed it. I do try, and I was worried about it being too... wordy. They both are a bit wordy, though, so my options were either strip thoughts out entirely and have it make no sense or put them in. Also, your respect is appreciated, I really do see these two as characters that work well together (and at least _Hush_ seemed to agree with me), so I'm glad to help other people see that as well. I do think that all of us associate with at least some of the things going on in the last chapter, if only because that was a sort of range of sexual feelings. I also associate with Crane's ability to evaluate himself objectively (although I actually have a lot of confidence, too much, as I am also rather assertive). Also, your wishes have been granted with the above list. Also, wow, Poison Ivy, you're a brave lady. I mean, you're a girl, so it's better. Still, she frightens me. She'll turn on people in heartbeat, although I suppose that depends on her incarnation (I'm still getting over the time she raped Catwoman in _Hush_).

**Emozenith:** I'm honored to receive a review, then. I do really appreciate them, and take them to heart, so I'm glad you decided to give me one. Thank you for the compliment, I have tried to show why I think they work well together. Also I'm glad you think the smut mixed in, I tried for that. I also was worried about it being too wordy, so I tried to balance being in character with not ruining the mood. I'm glad it ended up working out. I think this sort of implies where the relationship is going long-term. I don't really like the idea of reform, but I also hate the idea of Batman not fixing Gotham before he dies. I know that's the general consensus, but if that's true than the life of the single strongest-willed human being was completely pointless, and I don't like that. I honestly think they'll just leave. Go to some awful corrupt country and do research/run the information network for the secret police there. I don't really know though. I don't really think of them that way, because the Batman universe sort of just perpetuates, so it's hard to think of them really getting to the point where they have to retire or whatever. I did try here, though, for what it's worth.

**Jen Rock:** I'm glad you're enjoying it. I'm not really sure how to classify what they have. I sort of see love as something that itself is not perfect or pure. I think it is love. To them. It wouldn't probably be love to us. I sort of tried to get at that in the conversation with Joker.

**AnnaMNR:** Good to see you, again! Thanks for the review, as always!

Again, thanks to everyone who has been so good about reviewing!


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